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BJØRNSTJERNE BJØRNSON 


The Fisher 
Maiden 


TRANSLATED FROM 
THE NORWEGIAN 


INTRODUCTORY ESSAY ON 
SCANDINAVIAN FICTION BY 
HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE 


A FRONTISPIECE AND A 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 





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THE FISHER MAIDEN 


VoL. 6 


(B)-A 


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CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Introduction 5 

Life of Bjornson 17 

CHAPTER I 

Gunlaug of the Hill 21 

CHAPTER II 

The Fisher Maiden’s Childhood 37 

CHAPTER HI 

Oedegaard 54 

CHAPTER IV 

A Chain of Gold 74 

CHAPTER V 

Petra’s Lovers Meet 102 

CHAPTER VI 

Flight 122 


3 


Contents 


CHAPTER VII 

The Greatest Calling on Earth 144 

CHAPTER VIII 

SiGNE AND Her Parents 173 

CHAPTER IX 

Smoke, Fire, and Snow 196 

CHAPTER X 

Enlightenment 231 

CHAPTER XI 

Petra’s Consecration 272 

CHAPTER XII 

The Curtain Rises 305 


4 


INTRODUCTION 


C AN you guess what I am dreaming about, 
and planning, and picturing to myself as 
something delightful?’’ wrote Ibsen to 
Georg Brandes from Christiania nine years ago; 
“The making of a home for myself near the Sound, 
between Copenhagen and Elsinore, on some free, 
open spot, whence I can see all the sea-going ships 
starting on and returning from their long voyages. 
That I can not do here. Here all the sounds are 
closed — in every acceptation of the word — and 
all the channels of intelligence are blocked. Oh, 
dear Brandes, it is not without its consequences 
that a man lives for twenty-seven years in the 
wider, emancipated and emancipating spiritual 
conditions of the great world. Up here, by the 
fiords, is my native land. But — but — but! where 
am I to find my homeland?” This cry of the 
spirit for companionship of aim, for a common 
and stimulating understanding with other men, 
has been heard many times by this generation; 
5 


Introduction 


but it comes laden with a peculiar pathos, charged 
with a more intense passion, from northern Europe 
and from Russia. The recent literature of Scan- 
dinavia is, almost without exception, a literature 
of protest. If Ibsen has spoken with more dra- 
matic force than Bjornson, Jacobsen, and Brandes, 
he has not framed his indictment with more energy 
of conviction or given it greater definiteness of 
statement. Readers of his ‘^Letters” will remem- 
ber his burning indignation when Prussia seized 
the Schleswig-Holstein provinces and dismem- 
bered Denmark without opposition from Norway 
and Sweden. “Norwegians and Swedes have a 
capital crime to atone for to your nation,” he wrote 
to his faithful friend, the Danish publisher, Hegel. 

But there were more general if less dramatic 
causes for his long expatriation ; causes which were 
summed up in the general spiritual lethargy, the 
bondage to tradition, the deadening influence of 
the ideals of smug respectability, which gave the 
intellectual life of the Scandinavian countries 
stupefying monotony. If the house on the Sound 
had been built, and the free winds and tumultuous 
seas which separate Denmark from Sweden had 
cleared the air about it, Ibsen would not have es- 
6 


Introduction 


caped the suffocating air which oppressed him in 
Christiania. The battle for “the logic of free 
life,” as Mr. La Farge has admirably phrased it, 
was even more bitter in Denmark than in Norway; 
and to-day it is impossible to sit in the library 
of Georg Brandes, on the quay facing the harbor 
in Copenhagen, without feeling that one is in an 
atmosphere of conflict. The fight has been won, 
but it has left its impress on the slender, nervous 
figure, the resolute features, the spirited, strongly 
poised head of the tireless and courageous critic, 
who has fought his way step by step to confidence 
and authority as well as to eminence. The inva- 
sion of modern thought, long resisted, was accom- 
plished between 1870 and 1890, when the radical 
movement in religion, philosophy, science, edu- 
cation, literature, and art assumed revolutionary 
proportions. Like all reactions, its intensity was 
measured by the dull, uncomprehending resistance 
it encountered at the start; that it should, in some 
cases, have gone too far and become destructive 
was inevitable. It has changed the air of northern 
Europe and given the world a little group of 
writers whose individuality, intensity, and passion 
produce an impression so immediate and so defi- 
7 


Introduction 


nite as to make a final valuation of their work 
impossible for many years to come. 

Of this stirring of the spirit of Scandinavia the 
work of Jens Peter Jacobsen is an authentic and 
deeply interesting record. In a period of territorial 
dismemberment, of national humiliation, of bitter 
political strife, he predicted, though he did not 
live to realize, the freedom and productiveness of 
a new epoch. Georg Brandes, the prophet of the 
new age, early recognized his genius, and speaks 
of him still with a note of deep feeling in his voice. 
Denmark is a small country, and Thisted, the 
little market- town in which the author of ‘‘Niels 
Lyhne” was born, on April 7, 1847, lies near the 
extreme northwestern coast of Jutland, at almost 
the farthest point from Copenhagen. The son of 
a well-to-do merchant, he was sent to school in 
his native village for six years; and then, after a 
year of study at home, went to Copenhagen to 
finish his preparation for the University, which 
he entered in 1868. 

From his earliest boyhood he had shown a 
marked fondness for chemistry and the study of 
plants and flowers, and had become an experimen- 
tal chemist and botanist. 'He began writing verses 
8 


Introduction 


while a student, but he chose botany as a profes- 
sion; and in 1870 he made a study of the flora of 
several remote Danish islands. The congenial 
task of translating “The Origin of Species” and 
“The Descent of Man” gave deeper interest and 
more definite direction to his scientific taste, 
and sent him into the swamps to collect plants. 
His zeal outran his discretion, and exposure 
sowed the seeds of the pulmonary disease from 
which he died thirteen years later. 

Cut off by illness from scientific activity, the 
ardent young student turned to literature. He had 
already tried his hand at story-writing, and the 
warm encouragement of Dr. Brandes gave his 
energy new direction. From 1873 to 1885 he was 
constantly fighting disease and heroically at work; 
seeking health in Italy; and finding, both at home 
and in the genial air of southern Europe, more 
themes than his diminishing strength could deal 
with. The first chapters of “Marie Grubbe,” a 
historical romance, saw the light in the pages of 
“Det Nittende Aarhundrede,” a monthly review 
devoted to the new movement represented by Dr. 
Brandes, Ibsen, Rydberg, Heyse, Zola, and other 
members of the group of writers whose work 
9 


Introduction 


was beginning to stir Europe. When this story] 
was published in complete form in Copen- 
hagen, in 1876, it secured immediate popular- 
ity, and speedily took its place at the head of 
Danish historical fiction. After long interrup- 
tions, due to increasing weakness, “Niels Lyhne” 
was finished in 1880. Two years later Jacobsen 
collected in a single volume six short stories, writ- 
ten at intervals during a period of ten years. This 
book, which bears the title of one of his earliest 
tales, “Mogens,” is regarded as his most perfect 
work in point of delicacy and charm of style. 

He died at Thisted on the 30th of April, 1885, 
waiting eagerly for the coming of the fragrant 
northern spring, and taking from his mother’s 
hand, on the day of his death, the earliest cherry 
blossoms. “What a pity to break it off for me,” 
were his last words. 

When “Niels Lyhne” appeared Ibsen wrote to 
his friend Hegel: “Jacobsen’s book is a fine work 
in every respect; I venture to say that it is one of 
the very best of its kind which has been written in 
our day.” American readers will be impressed by 
its extreme modernity and by the pathos of the 
struggle for self-realization which it records. It 
10 


Introduction 


is, as Jacobsen called it, ^‘a chronicle of youth”; 
touched with the idealism, passion, and sadness of 
youth. It is a study, not only of a temperament, 
but of a moment of transition; the portrait of a 
young man which brings out clearly the features 
of youth in every age, and of a free-thinker who 
resolutely strove to accept his creed in the great 
crises of life. American readers can hardly fail 
to note its deep inwardness of movement, in strik- 
ing contrast to our objective stories of incident, 
action, and adventure ; and its emphasis on the free 
expression of personality rather than on the appli- 
cation of the force of personality to some specific 
objective task. 

These characteristics are equally distinct and 
significant in a story with which readers on this 
side the Atlantic have been familiar for many 
years. Bjornson’s ^Tisher Maiden” was published 
at Copenhagen thirty-eight years ago, was trans- 
lated into English two years later, and soon caught 
the attention of a considerable group of readers 
who are quick to appreciate the combination of 
rugged strength, poetic charm, and mobility of 
feeling which place the story among the most sym- 
pathetic and illuminating studies of the artistic 


II 


Introduction 


temperament. Until Ibsen became the rallying 
point of the new departure in dramatic writing, 
Bjornson was, next after Hans Christian Ander- 
sen, the best known of the Scandinavian writers 
and the most widely read by Americans. He has 
been for five decades the incarnation of the old 
Norse spirit and the representative man of his 
race. While Ibsen expatriated himself, Bjornson 
stayed resolutely at home. ‘‘In Norway will I 
live, in Norway will I lash and be lashed, in Nor- 
way will I sing and die,’’ he wrote more than a 
quarter of a century ago; and he is still in Norway, 
and in the recent agitation which brought about 
the separation of that country from Sweden he 
towered above his contemporaries, the true leader 
of the people, whom he has devotedly loved while 
he lashed them, as he had lashed them because he 
loved them. 

A sweeter nature than Ibsen, with a keener sym- 
pathy with men and a broader outlook on life, 
Bjornson has fought the battle for the “logic of 
free life” in Norway not less vigorously than did 
the author of “An Enemy of the People”; and in 
some respects he has fought it more effectively. It 
is impossible to read “The Fisher Maiden” with- 


12 


Introduction 


out realizing how skilfully the inadequacy of the 
old-time orthodox view of life which kept Scandi- 
navia in fetters to a rigid and barren interpretation 
of religion and ethics is driven home by sheer 
force of the facts of human nature dramatically 
stated. 

Few writers have been so amply endowed in all 
ways as Bjornstjerne Bjornson. He is the embodi- 
ment of courage, genius, leadership. Broad- 
shouldered, massive in build, with a noble head 
and a commanding eye; a temperament all fire, 
passion, and tenderness; a knowledge of his coun- 
try and his people, which has made him at once 
their leader and their interpreter to the world, the 
author of ^^The Fisher Maiden” has been a tower 
of strength in the fight for the emancipation of the 
human spirit in the Scandinavian world. Poet, 
novelist, dramatist, orator, political leader, Bjorn- 
son has gathered into his intense and tireless 
life the most vital impulses of Norway. 

Born in a country parsonage, in a rugged valley 
among the Dovre Mountains, on December 8, 
1832, he was taken while a child into the heart 
of the noblest scenery in Norway, and fed his im- 
agination on a landscape at once majestic and beau- 

13 


Introduction 


tiful. While a boy at the Latin school in Molde 
he inspired his playmates with his passion for 
poetry, history, the Sagas, folk-lore, and romantic 
tales. At seventeen he entered the University of 
Christiania, devoted himself to Danish literature, 
and fell under the fascination of the stage. A 
year under his father’s roof brought him in close 
contact with the people and prepared him to be 
their poet, interpreter, and leader. He emanci- 
pated himself from the rigid and depressing pie- 
tism which lay like a shadow over the religious 
life of Norway; began his career as an author by 
writing dramatic criticism; visited Upsala and 
Copenhagen; and found himself, so to speak, by 
giving expression to his genius in both prose and 
verse. 

His heart was with his people, and his first 
long story, “Synnove Solbakken,’’ revealed him as 
the master of a fresh, vivid, poetic style, and of 
a field of unsuspected richness of experience, emo- 
tion, and character. The story had the old Norse 
vigor and the old Norse poetry in a wholly orig- 
inal and wonderfully appealing combination; the 
bare simplicity of rustic life and the idyllic sweet- 
ness and charm of naive and unconscious feeling 
14 


Introduction 


gave it an interest and pathos which were irre- 
sistible. 

Bjornson had seen little of the world when he 
began to write, but he showed a high degree of 
artistic power from the beginning; and while his 
later work reveals wider relationships of thought 
and a fuller knowledge of life, it does not surpass 
the first stories in delicacy of feeling or charm of 
style. “Arne,” which followed “Synnove Solbak- 
ken,” gave expression to the lyrical impulse still 
in the blood of the Norwegian peasant; the yearn- 
ing for action, the vision of the world, the passion 
for complete self-realization. Dramas and poems 
poured from the prolific, seething mind of a man 
who had not only genius, but the passion for 
work; novels, contributions to periodical literature 
on religious, political, and literary topics came in a 
steady stream from his tireless hand. He was for 
a time director of a theatre, and for a number of 
years editor of a leading newspaper in Christiania. 
In 1880 he visited this country, and his return 
seems to have coincided with his appearance as 
an orator; a new form of expression through which 
he soon secured, and has ever since held, the atten- 
tion of all Norway. 


15 


Introduction 


In the long list of works that bear the name of 
this great-hearted man of genius none is a more 
authentic disclosure of his idealism, his poetic con- 
ception of life, his love of art, and his command of 
humor, pathos, sentiment, sympathy, and deep feel- 
ing than “The Fisher Maiden” — a fresh, free, 
deep-seeing interpretation of the temptations, strug- 
gles, joys, sorrows, pains, and exaltations of the 
artistic temperament 

Hamilton W. Mabie. 


i6 


LIFE OF BJORNSON 


R eaders of the weird dramatic poem “Peer 
Gynt/’ by Bjornson’s great compatriot, Hen- 
rik Ibsen, may remember certain scenes 
taking place in the Dovre Mountains. It was in 
this region that on the 8th of December, 1832, 
the author of “The Fisher Maiden” first saw the 
light. His father was then holding a Lutheran 
pastorate at Kvikne, a small town twenty miles 
south of the famous fjord of Trondhjem, whence, 
however, he was transferred to Naesset, in Roms- 
dalen, a few years after our author’s birth. At the 
age of twelve, the boy was sent to the Molde high 
school, and at seventeen to the University of Chris- 
tiania, which institution he left in 1832, without 
having distinguished himself in any way. How- 
ever, “the itch of scribbling” did not tarry long in 
worrying his fingers, for after quitting the univer- 
sity he soon struck out into journalism; he joined 
the forces of the Christiania “Aftenbladet” as dra- 

17. 


Life of Bjornson 

made cridc and reviewer, wrote, as well, for the 
“Morgenbladet,” and acted as correspondent for 
some provincial papers. 

As a composer of fiction, Bjornson made his 
public bow with a few brief rural sketches, 
among which may be mentioned “Thrond” and 
the “Dun Horse.” His first novel, printed in 
the year 1857, before he was twenty- five — which 
was entitled “Synnove Solbakken” — won rapid 
popularity throughout Europe. The most im- 
portant novels to follow were: “Arne” (1858), 
“A Happy Boy” (i860), “The Fisher Maiden” 
(1868), “The Bridal March” (1872). All these 
described Norwegian types amid Norwegian sur- 
roundings; they betokened a determination to 
break loose from the literary dominance of Den- 
mark, and to set up a genuinely national stand- 
ard. In later years there were published the 
romances of “Captain Manzana,” an Italian story, 
and “In God’s Way.” Though not a poet in the 
sense that he regarded poetry as his prime voca- 
tion, Bjornson scattered among the pages of his 
novels lyrics and ballads of no mean quality. 

One of his great ambitions was to reform Nor- 
way’s drama. He began by planning several pieces 
18 


Life of Bjornson 

which should have for the main interest the pecul- 
iar characteristics of the Norse peasantry, with 
which Bjornson was certainly familiar, if anybody 
was. But naturally enough, he found that peasant 
life was much restricted in its range of activities, 
and he therefore turned to the world at large for 
his types and subjects. Fundamentally aggres- 
sive by disposition, he frequently selected socio- 
logical “problems.” Thus, in view of the corrup- 
tion of the press, he wrote “The Editor,” while 
“The Glove” raised the issue of sexual impurity 
being condoned in men and condemned in women. 
Further plays to attract at least momentary atten- 
tion were “Leonarda,” “The Failure,” “Labore- 
mus,” the historical trilogy “King Sigurd,” and 
the satirical drama “The New System.” “Beyond 
Human Power,” a study of religious emotion, 
achieved considerable success at its first produc- 
tion, in 1899. But it can not be said that Bjorn- 
stjerne Bjornson has, like his renowned country- 
man, the author of “Ghosts” and “A Doll’s House” 
and “Peer Gynt,” secured himself a place among 
the world’s chief modern writers for the stage. 

Bjornson has always been a political agitator 
of fervent spirit and leading influence, and to 

19 


Life of Bjornson 

his strong efforts the recent separation of Norway 
from Sweden may partly be accounted due. He 
was conspicuously active in politics between 1864 
and 1874, when he carried on his work with pen 
and voice, delivering energetic addresses in all 
parts of the country. During this period he bought 
the radical organ the “Folkebladet” — which he 
had already been editing for some time — in order 
to obtain a fully free utterance for his convictions. 
For the last twenty years he has led the life of a 
country gentleman at his estate of Aulestad, though 
paying frequent visits to continental capitals, where 
his linguistic abilities — he speaks, besides the Scan- 
dinavian tongues, French, German, Italian, and 
English — stand him in good stead. Two dates may 
be added: 1858, the year of his marriage to Karo- 
line Reimers, and 1880, the occasion of his lectur- 
ing tour in the United States of America. 


20 


THE FISHER MAIDEN 


CHAPTER I 

GUNLAUG OF THE HILL 

When the herring has fixed upon any place 
along the coast for its constant and regular haunt, 
a town grows up there bit by bit, if it is otherwise 
a likely place. Towns such as these may not only 
be said to have been actually cast up by the sea, 
but even still, at some distance off, look like bits of 
wreckage or timber that the waves have washed 
ashore; or like upturned boats, under which the 
fishermen have crept for shelter against the stormy 
night. Draw nearer, and you will see in what a 
casual fashion the town has been built: crags lie in 
the midst of thoroughfares; the sea divides the 
hamlet into three or four parts; and the streets 
curve and wind about at will. 

But one property is possessed by all these towns 
alike : they have shelter in the harbors for the larg- 
est ships ; within them, the water is smooth as in a 
basin ; and therefore these inlets are very welcome 


21 


The Fisher Maiden 


to vessels that come with sails torn, and bulwarks 
shattered, scudding away from the high seas to seek 
for breathing-time. 

In such townlets all is stillness : everything that 
is a source of noise is relegated to the quays, where 
the villagers’ boats lie fast, and ships load and 
unload. 

In our little town the only street runs along the 
quays, facing which are white and red-painted 
houses, one or two stories high, with walls not 
touching one another, but with bright strips of 
garden in between, the whole forming a long and 
broad road, on which you get the scent of what- 
ever happens to be on the quays, if the wind is 
blowing from the sea. 

All is quiet here — not from fear of the police- 
man, for as a rule there is none, but from fear of 
what people say, for everybody in the place is 
known to everybody else. Should you walk down 
the street, you must give a greeting at every win- 
dow you pass, and the old dame sitting at it will 
pleasantly greet you in return. Exchange a greet- 
ing, too, with every one you meet; for all these 
quiet folk go about their business considering what 
is the most fitting conduct for the world in general 


22 


The Fisher Maiden 


and for themselves in particular, and any one who 
oversteps the limits proper to his rank and station 
in life loses his good name; for not alone is he 
known, but his father and his grandfather before 
him; and immediately folks set themselves to find 
out if, at any previous time, any tendency toward 
impropriety has been manifested in the family. 

To our quiet town there came many years ago a 
man much respected by all, Peter Olsen, whose 
Christian name was usually abridged to Per. 
He had come from the country, where he had 
earned his livelihood as a pedler and fiddler, and 
he opened a shop in the town for his old customers, 
selling bread and brandy in addition to his pedler’s 
wares. You might hear him walking up and down 
in the back room behind the shop, playing jigs and 
wedding marches. Every time, as he passed the 
door, he peeped through the glass panels, and if 
he caught sight of a customer coming, he finished 
up his tune with a flourish and went into the shop. 
His business prospered, he married, and had a 
son, whom he called after himself, naming him, 
however, not “Per,” but “Peter.” 

Little Peter was to be what Per felt he himself 
was not — a cultivated man; and with this end in 

23 


The Fisher Maiden 


view the boy was sent to the Latin School, the 
institution for the children of the higher classes. 

The lads who ought to have been his comrades 
beat him home from their games, because he was 
the son of Per Olsen ; and Per Olsen beat him back 
again to them, because it was impossible for him 
to be educated otherwise. In consequence, little 
Peter, finding himself isolated at school, grew so 
idle, and by degrees so completely inured to the 
whole affair, that his father could strike neither 
tear nor smile out of him ; so Per gave up the beat- 
ing process and put him into the shop. 

Judge of his surprise when he saw the lad serve 
every customer with exactly what he asked for, 
never giving a grain too much, nor ever himself 
eating so much as a currant; weighing, counting, 
or invoicing with immovable countenance; never 
talking, if he could avoid so doing; very slow in 
all his movements, but unimpeachable in his ex- 
actitude. 

Then the father’s hope sprang up anew, and he 
sent him, in a fishing-boat, to Hamburg, that he 
might go into the Commercial Institute and learn 
good manners. 

After eight months’ absence — long enough, in 
24 


The Fisher Maiden 

all conscience — he returned, provided with six new 
suits, which, when he landed, he wore one over the 
other: “for what one wears and walks in,” as the 
saying is, “pays not custom-house duty.” 

Next day, when he was seen in the street, he had 
lost some of his bulk, but otherwise he looked much 
the same. He walked stiff and straight, holding 
his hands close by his sides ; he saluted with a sud- 
den jerk, bowing as if deprived of the use of his 
joints, and immediately becoming quite stiff again. 
He was politeness personified, but silent in his man- 
ners, and, after a fashion, shy. 

His name he no longer wrote “Olsen,” but 
“Ohlsen,” which gave the town wag a chance for 
the following display of wit : 

Question, “How far did Peter Olsen get in 
Hamburg?” 

Answer, “As far as the letter H.” 

He . had had thoughts of calling himself “Pedro,” 
but he suffered so much annoyance for the sake of 
an H that he gave up that idea, and wrote himself 
“P. Ohlsen.” 

He did much to extend his father’s business, and 
when only in his two-and-twentieth year he mar- 
ried a red-handed shopkeeper’s lass, that he might 

25 


VoL. 6 


(B)-B 


The Fisher Maiden 


have some one to look after the household: for the 
father had just become a widower, and a wife is 
more trustworthy than a housekeeper. Just a year 
after their marriage she bore him a son, who, 
within a week of his birth, was named Pedro. 

Now that worthy Per Olsen was a grandfather 
he felt an inner call to become old ; so he handed 
the business over to his son, took his seat on a bench 
in the open air, and smoked twist out of a short 
pipe. And when one day he began to grow some- 
what weary of his life, he uttered a wish that he 
might soon die, and this wish of his was as quietly 
granted as all the rest of his desires had been. 

Now, just as the son Peter had inherited one side 
exclusively of his father’s powers, viz., his business 
aptitude, so the grandson Pedro seems to have been 
sole heir to the other — his musical faculties. It 
was long before he learned to read, but he very 
soon knew how to sing. He played the flute so well 
that it could not escape notice. He was weak of 
sight and yielding in disposition. All this, how- 
ever, only vexed the father, who wanted the boy to 
possess his own punctilious accuracy; so if ever he 
neglected anything, he was not scolded and beaten, 
as his father had been, but pinched. This was done 
26 


The Fisher Maiden 


in a quiet, an affable, wellnigh a polite manner; 
but it was done on the very smallest provocation. 
Every night as the mother undressed him she 
counted and kissed the blue and yellow marks, but 
she made no resistance, for she herself knew what 
it was to be pinched. For every rent in his clothes 
— which were those his father had brought from 
Hamburg, cut down and altered for the son’s use 
— for every smudge on his school-books, she had 
to bear the blame. Hence all day long it was 
‘^Don’t do that, Pedro!” “Take care, Pedro!” 
“Mind what you’re doing, Pedro!” till the boy 
grew afraid of his father and weary of his mother. 
Among his schoolmates he came to no particular 
harm, because he always fell a-crying, begging 
them not to hurt his clothes : they nicknamed him 
“Touchwood,” and troubled themselves no more 
about him. He was like a sickly, featherless duck- 
ling,, ever limping along behind the rest of the 
brood, and sneaking quickly off with any little bit 
he could steal for himself: nobody shared with 
him, and so he shared with nobody. 

But he soon found out that it was very different 
for him among the poor children of the town ; they 
had far more patience with him, because he was 

27. 


The Fisher Maiden 


better ofif than themselves. A tall, strongly-built 
lass, who was queen of the whole crew, took a lik- 
ing to him. He was never tired of looking at her. 
She had raven black hair that curled about her 
head and was never combed save by her fingers, 
eyes of perfect blue beneath her narrow forehead, 
and an expression that betokened single-hearted 
determination. She was always actively engaged, 
whether in sport or in work, going about in sum- 
mer-time with arms and legs bare, and face tanned 
by the sun, while in winter her clothing was such 
as others wear in summer. Her father was a pilot 
and fisherman : she flourished about selling his fish, 
holding his boat still against wind and tide, and — 
when he was away acting as pilot — did the fishing 
alone. No one who saw her could help turning 
round and taking another look at her, she seemed 
such a picture of self-reliance. 

Her name was Gunlaug, but she was called ‘‘The 
Fisher Maiden,” a name she accepted as a title 
proper to her rank. In all games she was always to 
be found on the weaker side; she seemed to need 
somebody to care for, so now she took charge of 
this sickly boy. In her boat he might blow his 
flute, which was forbidden him at home, because 
28 


The Fisher Maiden 


it was believed to divert his thoughts from his les- 
sons. She used to row him out on the fjord ; she 
began to take him out with her on longer fishing 
expeditions; and, before long, let him accompany 
her on her night tours as well. 

On such occasions they rowed off in the silent 
summer twilight as the sun sank to rest, and he 
would play his flute, or listen to her as she told 
him all the tales that she knew of mermen and of 
monsters^ of strange adventures, foreign lands, and 
black men, just as the sailors had told them to her. 
She shared her food with him just as she did her 
knowledge, and he partook of both alike without 
making any return ; for he had neither eatables to 
bring with him from home, nor fancy from school. 
{They rowed till the sun went down behind the 
snow-capped hills, and then anchored off some 
craggy islet, where they landed and made a fire; 
that is to say, she collected sticks and branches, he 
sat and looked on. She brought one of her father’s 
seaman’s jackets and a blanket in the boat with her, 
and in these she wrapped him round. She looked 
after the fire and he went to sleep, while she kept 
herself awake by singing bits of psalms and songs ; 
she sang in a clear firm voice until he fell asleep, 
29 


The Fisher Maiden 


and then she sang in a lower tone. When the sun 
rose again across the water, darting pale yellow 
rays over the mountain-tops to herald his approach, 
she would wake him. The woods still stood in 
blackness, and the country still lay darkened, but 
began to be reddish and glowing until the ridge 
of hills shone clear, and every color gleamed forth 
bright and distinct. Then they dragged the boat 
into the water again, and quickly it shot through 
the waves before the fresh morning breeze, and 
soon it lay moored among the other fishing- 
boats. 

When the winter came, and the expeditions came 
to an end, he used to visit her at her home. He 
would often sit looking at her as she worked, but 
neither he nor she spoke much; it was as if they 
were sitting together waiting for summer. But 
alas! when it came, their hopes were destined to 
come to naught, for Gunlaug’s father died, and 
she left the town, while the boy, at his schoolmas- 
ter’s advice, was put into the shop. There he 
stood beside his mother, for little by little the 
father had become the color of the groats he was 
always weighing out, and was at last obliged to 
keep to his bed in the back room; yet he still 
30 


The Fisher Maiden 


wished to take part in all that went on and to know 
what sales each of them made. He would act as 
if he did not hear, until he got them near enough, 
and then pinch them. At length the oil ran quite 
dry in this little lamp one night, and the light 
flickered out. The wife wept, hardly knowing why 
she did so, but the son had not a tear to squeeze 
forth. Having money enough to live on, they gave 
up the business, removed everything that might 
have reminded them of it, and made the shop into 
a sitting-room ; there the mother sat by the window 
and knitted stockings, while Pedro sat in the room 
on the other side of the passage and blew his flute. 
But as soon as the summer came, he bought a little 
light sailing-boat, bent his course to the rocky islet, 
and lay where Gunlaug had lain. 

One day, as he lay there among the heather, he 
saw a boat steering straight for him; it brought up 
close by his resting-place, and out stepped Gun- 
laug. She had not altered at all, save that she 
was full-grown, and taller than other women ; but 
as her eyes fell upon him, she turned aside a little 
and Blackened her pace, for it had never occurred 
to her that he was now a man. 

The thin, mealy face was unknown to her, for it 

31 


The Fisher Maiden 


was no longer ailing and delicate-looking; it was 
dull and heavy; but as he looked at her, his eyes 
were lighted up as if by the light of his former 
dreams, and as she advanced, for every step she 
came it seemed as if a year fell from him, and 
when she stood by him he had sprung up and stood 
laughing and talking like a boy. Beneath the old 
face lay the visage of a child; he had got older, it 
is true, but he had not grown up. 

Such as he was, it was just such a child she was 
seeking, though now that she had found him again, 
she hardly knew what more she would have. She 
laughed and blushed. Involuntarily he seemed 
to feel a sort of power within him; it was the 
first time in his life, and at that instant he was 
actually handsome; it lasted perhaps little more 
than a moment, but in that moment she was 
entirely captivated. 

Gunlaug was one of those natures that can 
only love whatever is weak, whatever they have 
borne in their arms. She had meant to stay in the 
town two days — she remained two months. 

In those two months he developed more than in 
all the rest of his life. He was so far aroused from 
his dreamy apathy as to form plans for the future: 
32 


The Fisher Maiden 

he decided that he would go away and learn 
music! But when he talked of this to her one day, 
she turned pale, and said, ‘‘Yes; but first we must 
be married!” 

He looked at her, and she looked stead- 
fastly back at him; both blushed red as fire; 
and then, “What will people say to that?” 
said he. 

It had never occurred to Gunlaug that his 
wishes could be other than hers, just because her 
wishes had till then never been other than his. But 
now it flashed upon her that, deep down in his 
heart, he had never for an instant had any inten- 
tion of sharing anything with her, except what 
she gave him. In that instant it stood revealed to 
her that it had been so in all their intercourse. She 
had begun by pitying, and ended by loving, the 
being she herself had fostered. Ah ! if she had only 
exercised a moment’s self-control at the moment 
of this discovery! For he saw her anger blazing 
up, and in fear he cried out, “Yes, I will marry 
you!” She heard him; but her anger at her own 
blindness and his littleness, at her own shame and 
his cowardice, seethed up with burning speed to 
boiling point, and never did a love that began in 
33 


The Fisher Maiden 


childhood in the evening sunshine, that had been 
rocked on the billows beneath the rays of the moon 
and accompanied by the melody of the flute and 
of soft singing, come to a more pitiable ending.* 
She grasped him with both her hands, she raised 
him from the ground, and struck him with all the 
passion of her heart; then she rowed straight back 
to the town, and, never swerving, went away over 
the hills. 

He had sailed out a youth deep in love, and on 
his way to achieve manhood; he returned an old 
man, for whom manhood had never been. His 
life had but one memory, and that he had in his 
folly thrown away: one spot only on earth did he 
care for, and thither no longer durst he go. Brood- 
ing over his own misery and how it had come upon 
him, his new-born vigor sank as in a quagmire, 
never to emerge again. The little town boys soon 
noticed his strange bearing, and began to plague 
him; and as he was an obscure person to his fel- 
low-townsmen, who knew neither what he lived on 
nor how, it fell out that he found no one to defend 
him. Before long he no longer dared to venture 
out — at any rate, not in the public thoroughfares. 
His whole existence became a warfare with the 


34 


The Fisher Maiden 


boys, who were, perhaps, of the same use as flies 
are in the heat of summer ; without them he would 
have sunk into complete torpor. 

Nine years later Gunlaug came back to the town 
just as unexpectedly as she had left it. She was 
accompanied by a little girl about eight years of 
age, who looked just as Gunlaug used to in former 
days, save that she was more delicate in her fea- 
tures and bearing, and had a look about her as if 
she had stepped out of a dream. Gunlaug had 
been married, it was said ; she had inherited some 
money, and had come back to the town to open an 
inn for seamen. 

She managed her house in such a way that mer- 
chants and skippers came to her to hire sailors, and 
sailors came to her to get hired. Besides this, all 
the town ordered fish of her. And though she 
never took a shilling for her services as agent, she 
wielded despotically the power her position gave 
her. Certainly she was the most influential person 
in the town, though she was a woman, and a woman, 
too, who never left her own house. She was known 
as ‘Tish-Gunlaug,” or “Gunlaug of the Hiir^; 
while the title of “The Fisher Maiden” descended 
to her little daughter, and this child, whose more 
35 


The Fisher Maiden 


popular designation was “The Fisher Girl,’’ was 
always to be found skipping about at the head of 
the small boys of the town. 

Her history it is which we are about to tell. She 
had something of her mother’s strong nature, and 
she had occasion to use it. 


36 


The Fisher Maiden 


CHAPTER II 

THE FISHER MAIDEN’S CHILDHOOD 

The many pretty gardens of the town, now clad 
in their second and third blossoms, were fragrant 
after the rain. The sun was sinking to rest behind 
the everlasting mountains of snow and the whole 
heavens far around seemed all on fire, making 
even the snow-peaks give back a subdued reflec- 
tion. The nearer mountains stood in the shadow, 
but were bright, notwithstanding, with many-hued 
autumnal foliage. The rocky islets with their 
dense woods, coming one after another in the mid- 
dle of the fjord, like a stream of boats rowing in, 
afforded a still stronger display of color, for they 
were not so far off. The sea was still as glass : a 
big ship was slowly being towed in. People were 
sitting about on the wooden steps before their 
doors, where the rose-bushes grew thick about 
them : they were talking to one another from door 
to door, running over to each other’s dwellings, or 
37 . 


The Fisher Maiden 


exchanging greetings with the passers-by, who 
were on their way to the long, leafy lanes beyond 
the town. Here and there a piano might be heard 
through an open window: save that, no sound 
broke upon their talk. The last gleams of the 
setting sun over the sea seemed to add to the feel- 
ing of utter calm. 

All of a sudden there arose a sound in the mid- 
dle of the town as if it were being stormed. Boys 
were screaming, girls crying, other boys hurrahing, 
old women scolding and shrieking out orders; the 
policeman’s big dog was barking his loudest, and 
every dog in the town barked in answer. Nobody 
that heard it could stop indoors. So great was the 
uproar that the magistrate himself turned on his 
threshold, and was heard to say, “Why, there must 
be something the matter!” 

“What is it?” was the constant question of those 
who came from the lanes to those on the steps. 

“Dear me! what can it be?” every one was ask- 
ing now, whenever anybody came from the middle 
of the town. 

But the town lies in a half-moon along a gently- 
curving bay, and so it was a good while before those 
at each end had heard the answer: 

38 


The Fisher Maiden 


Ohl it’s only the Fisher Girl!” 

That venturesome spirit, bold in the protection 
of a redoubtable mother, and sure of help from 
every seaman in the town — for such service always 
got them a free dram from Gunlaug — had put her- 
self at the head of her horde of small boys, and 
fallen upon a great apple tree in Pedro Ohlsen’s 
garden. The plan of assault was as follows : 

Certain of the boys were to lure Pedro to the 
front of the house by making his rose-bush beat 
against his window; at the same time, one of the 
others was to shake the apple tree, which stood 
in the midst of the garden, and the rest were to 
throw the apples over the fence in all directions, 
not to steal them — far from it! — but just for fun. 

This ingenious plan had that very evening been 
hatched behind Pedro’s garden ; but as luck would 
have it, Pedro himself happened to be sitting on the 
other side of the fence, and heard every word! 

Somewhat before the appointed time, he got the 
town policeman — a tippling fellow — and his big 
dog into his back parlor, where he gave both of 
them refreshment. When the Fisher Maiden’s 
curly black hair was seen above the palings, and a 
number of little faces peeped over on every side, 
39 


The Fisher Maiden 


Pedro let the young scamps in front of the house 
dash his rose-bushes against the window-panes to 
their heart’s content, while he quietly waited in the 
room at the back of the house. But when they 
had all gathered in perfect silence round the tree, 
and the Fisher Maiden, with bare arms and 
scratched legs, had climbed up to shake it, the 
garden door suddenly sprang open, and Pedro 
and the policeman dashed out with sticks in their 
hands and the huge dog close behind them! 

A scream of terror rose from among the boys. A 
lot of little girls, who were innocently playing 
‘‘catch” on the other side of the fence, thought that 
somebody was being murdered in the garden, and 
began crying in the most heartrending way. The 
boys who had escaped shouted “Hurrah!” those 
who were still struggling over the fence screamed 
under the blows of the cudgels; and, to complete 
the confusion, there arose from the depths certain 
old women — they always do when boys begin to 
shriek — and joined in the chorus. Pedro and the 
policeman were dismayed themselves at the up- 
roar, and tried to still the old women. Meanwhile, 
the boys took to their heels, and the dog, which 
they feared most, dashed over the fence after them ; 

40 


The Fisher Maiden 

that was his part of the game! And now the 
screams, the boys, the girls, and the dog flew like 
wildfire all over the town. 

All this time, the ringleader had been sitting 
quite still up in the tree, thinking that nobody had 
noticed her; crouching up at the very top, she 
could follow through the leaves the course of the 
fray. But as soon as the policeman had in des- 
peration gone out to the old women, and Pedro 
Ohlsen was alone in the garden, he came right 
under the tree, looked up, and shouted: 

‘‘Come down with you at once, you rascal 1” 

Not a sound from the tree. 

“Will you come down, I say? I know you’re up 
there!” 

Still unbroken silence. 

“I shall go and get my gun and shoot you! I 
will!” and he made a movement as if to go. 

“Boo-hoo-hoo!” came a sound from the tree. 

“Yes, you may well begin to squall! You 
shall get a whole barrelful of shot in you, you 
shall!” 

“Oo-hoo, oo-hoo!” cried a voice like an owl’s; 
“I am so frightened!” 

“Ah! it’s you, you little devil, is it? You’re the 

41 


The Fisher Maiden 


worst limb of mischief of the whole lot; but I’ve 
got you now!” 

“Oh! dear, good, kind sir! I’ll never do it 
again!” And at the same moment she flung a 
rotten apple clean in his face, and a peal of laugh- 
ter accompanied it. 

The apple burst all over him, and while he was 
wiping it off, she slipped down from the tree, and 
was wriggling over the palings before he could 
get near her. She would have got right off in 
safety, if she had not been so afraid of his 
being close behind her that she slipped back in 
her haste. 

As soon as he touched her, she gave a scream — a 
scream so piercing, loud, thrilling, and shrill, that 
he was quite taken aback, and let go his hold. At 
her signal of distress, people began to gather round 
the fence. She heard this, and plucked up cour- 
age straightway. 

“Let me go!” she threatened, “or I’ll tell 
mother!” and her face was now all ablaze with 
passion. 

Then he knew that look, and shouted wildly: 
“Your mother! Who is your mother?” 

“Gunlaugj Gunlaug of the Hill, Fish-Gunlaug,” 
42 


The Fisher Maiden 

reiterated the girl in triumph, for she saw he was 
frightened. 

Nearsighted as he was, he had never seen the 
child till now, and was the only person in the town 
who did not know who she was ; he did not even 
know that Gunlaug was in the town. 

‘What is your name?” he cried, like one pos- 
sessed. 

“Petra!” came the answer, in still higher tones. 

“Petra!” cried Pedro — and turned and dashed 
into the house as if he had spoken with the Fiend. 

Now, the paleness of fear is very like that of 
anger: Petra thought he had gone for his gun; 
terror seized her — already she felt the shots pursu- 
ing her. The garden gate had at that moment been 
burst open from the outside, and she rushed off 
through it, with her black hair streaming wild 
behind her, her eyes flashing lire, and the dog, 
whom she met, following and baying after her. 
Thus she burst upon her mother, who was coming 
from the kitchen with a bowl of soup, and down 
went the girl, with the soup all over her and the 
floor. 

“Drat the girl!” from Gunlaug. 

But, lying there in the spilled soup, she cried 
'43 


The Fisher Maiden 

out: ‘‘He’s coming to shoot me, mother I he’s com- 
ing to shoot me!” 

“Shoot you! Who’s going to shoot you, you 
little imp?” 

“He — he — Pedro Ohlsen — ^we were taking his 
apples.” She never dared tell aught but the truth. 

“Whom are you talking of, child?” 

“Of Pedro Ohlsen ; he’s after me with a big gun ! 
he’s coming to shoot me !” 

“Pedro Ohlsen!” shrieked the mother; and then 
she laughed, and seemed somehow to have grown 
taller. 

The child began to whimper and tried to make 
off; but the mother sprang upon her, with her 
white teeth shining as if for prey, and, gripping 
her by the shoulders, stopped her from going. 

“Did you say who you were?” 

“Yes, yes, yes, yes!” cried the child, holding up 
her hands entreatingly. 

Then the mother drew herself up to her full 
height : 

“So he has got to know at last! Well, what did 
he say?” 

“He ran in for his gun; he was going to shoot 
me!” 


44 


The Fisher Maiden 

shoot your laughed Gunlaug, in huge 
scorn; but the child, in great terror, and all be- 
spattered with the soup, had crept away into the 
corner, and was standing drying her clothes and 
shedding tears. 

‘‘If ever you go near him again,” said the 
mother, coming up to her once more, seizing her 
and shaking her, “or talk to him, or listen to what 
he says, may God help both him and you! Tell 
him that from me!” she added threateningly, as 
the child did not at once answer. 

“Yes, yes, yes, yes!” 

“Tell — him — that — from — me!” she repeated 
once more, in a lower tone, as she walked away, 
stopping to nod her head at every word. 

The child washed herself, changed her clothes, 
and went and sat out on the steps in her Sunday 
frock. But when she thought of the peril she had 
been in, her tears again began to fall. 

“What are you weeping for, childie?” asked a 
voice, more kindly than any she had ever heard 
before. 

She looked up; there stood before her a grace- 
fully built, intellectual looking man with spec- 
tacles. She stood up at once^ for it was Hans 
45 


The Fisher Maiden 


Oedegaard, a young man in whose presence every 
one in the town was wont to assume an attitude of 
respect. 

“What are you weeping for, childie?” repeated 
the voice. 

She looked up at him, and said that she and 
“some other boys” had been trying to get the apples 
in Pedro Ohlsen’s garden; but Pedro and the 
policeman had come after them, and — ” But she 
called to mind that her mother had shaken her 
faith in the shooting, so she dared not tell that 
part of the story — she gave a long deep sigh to 
make up for it. 

“Is it possible,” cried he, “that a child of 
your age could think of committing so great a 
sin?” 

Petra stared at him; she knew well enough that 
it was a sin, but she had always been used to being 
told so by hearing herself called, “You imp of the 
devil 1 You black-haired little fiend!” Now, 
somehow, she felt ashamed. 

“How is it you don’t go to school and learn 
God’s Commandments to us about what is good 
and what is evil?” 

She stood tugging at her frock, as she made shift 
46 


The Fisher Maiden 

to answer that her mother did not want her to go 
to school. 

^‘You can not even read, I suppose?” he said. 

“Yes,” replied she, she could read. 

He took out a little book and gave it her. She 
opened it, turned it over, and then looked at the 
cover. 

“I can’t read such fine print,” she said. 

But he would not let her off so, and straightway 
she became most marvelously stupid : her eyes and 
lips drooped, and all her limbs seemed to hang 
loose. 

“T-h-e the, L-o-r-d Lord, G-o-d God, the Lord 
God, s-a-i-d said, the Lord God said to M — 
M— M— ” 

“Good gracious!” he broke in, “you can’t even 
read 1 And you ten or eleven years old 1 Wouldn’t 
you be glad to be able to read?” 

She managed to jerk out that she would be glad 
enough. 

“Come with me, then; we must set to work at 
once.” 

She moved away a little, to look into the house. 

“Yes, go and tell your mother about it,” he said; 
and just then Gunlaug passed the door. Seeing 
3-7 


The Fisher Maiden 


the child talking with a stranger, she came out on 
to the flagstones. 

“He wants to teach me to read, mother,” said the 
child, looking at her with doubtful eyes. 

The mother made no answer, but set both her 
arms akimbo, and looked at Oedegaard. 

“Your child is very ignorant,” said he. “You 
can not answer it before God or man for letting 
her go on so.” 

“Who are you?” returned Gunlaug, sharply. 

“Hans Oedegaard, the son of your priest.” 

Her face cleared a little, for she had heard noth- 
ing but good of him. 

“When I was at home before,” he went on, “I 
noticed this child. To-day my attention has been 
called to her afresh. She must no longer accus- 
tom herself to doing only what is bad.” 

“What is that to you?” said the mother’s face 
plainly enough, but he continued quietly: 

“Surely you would like her to learn some- 
thing?” 

“No!” 

A slight flush passed over his face as he asked: 

“Why not?” 

“Are folks any the better for learning?” She 
48 


The Fisher Maiden 

had had only one experience with it, but she stuck 
fast to that. 

am astonished that any one can ask such a 
question.’’ 

“Yes, of course ; I know you are. I know people 
are none the better for it;” and she moved to the 
steps, to put an end to such ridiculous talk. 

But he planted himself right in her way. 

“Here is a duty,” said he, “which you shall not 
pass by. You are a most injudicious mother.” 

Gunlaug measured him from head to foot. 

“Who has told you,” said she, “what I am?” 

“You — ^you yourself; just now; or else you must 
have seen that your child was going on the way to 
ruin.” 

Gunlaug turned, and her eye met his; she saw 
he was in earnest in what he had said, and she be- 
gan to feel afraid of him. She had always had to 
do with seamen and tradesfolk; talk such as his 
she had never heard. 

“What do you want to do with my child?” she 
asked. 

“Teach her what is right for her soul’s welfare, 
and see what is to be made of her.” 

“My child shall be just what I want.” 

49 


VoL. 6 


(B)~C 


The Fisher Maiden 

“No, indeed, she shan’t! She shall be what God 
wants.” 

Gunlaug was at a loss what to answer. She 
drew nearer to him and said : 

“What do you mean by that?” 

“I mean,” he replied, “she ought to learn what- 
ever her powers allow; for God has given them 
her for that.” 

Gunlaug now drew close up to him. 

“Am I not to decide what is best for her — I, the 
child’s mother?” she asked, as if really wishing to 
be informed. 

“That you shall ; but you must act on the advice 
of those who know better than you. You must do 
the Lord’s will.” 

Gunlaug stood still for a moment. 

“What if she learns too much?” she said at last. 
“A poor woman’s child?” she added, looking ten- 
derly at her daughter. 

“If she learns too much for her own rank, she 
will thereby have attained another,” he said. 

She grasped his meaning at once, and, looking 
more and more fondly at her child, she said, as 
if to herself: 

“That is dangerous.” 


50 


The Fisher Maiden 


‘‘That is not the question,’’ he returned gently; 
“the question is, what is right?” 

A strange expression came into her keen eyes; 
she looked at him piercingly, but there was so 
much earnestness in his voice, his words, and his 
face, that Gunlaug felt herself conquered. She 
went up to the child, and laid her hands on her 
head, but she spoke not a word. 

“I shall read with her from now till the time 
when she is confirmed,” he said, hoping to make 
things easier for Gunlaug. “I wish to take charge 
of the child.” 

“And do you want to take her away from me?” 

He hesitated, and looked at her inquiringly. 

“Of course you know far better than I,” she 
said, speaking with difficulty; “but if it hadn’t 
been for what you said about the Lord — ” Here 
she stopped. She had been smoothing down her 
daughter’s hair, and now she took off her own ker- 
chief and bound it round Petra’s neck. Thus, in 
no other way did she say the child was to go with 
him; but she hastened back into the house, as if 
she could not bear to see it. 

Oedegaard began suddenly to feel afraid of 
what, in his youthful zeal, he had done. The 

51 


The Fisher Maiden 


child, for her part, felt afraid of him, for he was 
the first person who had ever got the best of her 
mother. And so, with mutual fears, they went to 
their first lesson. 

Day by day, as it seemed to him, her cleverness 
and knowledge increased; and it often happened 
that their conversation seemed, of its own accord, 
to take one peculiar bent. He would bring before 
her eyes characters from the Bible or from his- 
tory, in such a way as to point out to her the call 
that God had given them. He would tell her of 
Saul leading his wild life, or of the young David 
tending his father’s flocks, till Samuel came and 
laid on him the hands of the Lord. But greatest 
of all was the call when the Lord walked upon 
earth, tarried among the fisher-folk, and called 
them to His work. And the humble fishermen 
arose and followed after Him — to suffering — ^yea, 
even to death ; for the feeling of the holy call bears 
men up through all tribulation. 

The thought of this took such hold of her that 
she could not refrain from asking him about her 
own “call.” He looked steadfastly at her; she 
grew red beneath his gaze ; and then he answered 
that through work every man finds out his vocation, 
52 


The Fisher Maiden 

that that might be insignificant and unimportant, 
but that it existed for every one. Then a great zeal 
came upon her; it drove her to work with all her 
might; it entered into her games, and it made her 
wan and thin; 

Strange longings for adventure came over her. 
Oh! to cut short her hair, dress like a boy, and go 
out to take part in the struggle ! But when one day 
her teacher told her that her hair would be so 
pretty if only she would take a little care of it, she 
got fond of her long tresses, and for their sake 
sacrificed her chance of a heroine’s fame. After 
this, to be a girl became a more precious thing to 
her than ever, and henceforth her work went peace- 
fully on, with the ever-changing dreams of girl- 
hood floating about her. 


S3 


The Fisher Maiden 


CHAPTER III 

OEDEGAARD 

In his youth Hans Oedegaard’s father had wan- 
dered away from his native parish of Bergen, and 
by the aid of people who had taken to him, he had 
become a learned man and an able preacher. He 
was, moreover, a man of authority in deed even 
more than in word, for he was a deep and resolute 
thinker. This man who had, by his tough, stout 
will overcome all the difficulties of his life, was 
fated to receive a check where least he expected it, 
and where he felt it most. 

He had three daughters and one son. His son 
Hans was the brightest ornament of his school, and 
it was the father’s daily joy to help him with his 
lessons. Hans had a friend who, by his aid, kept 
up with him, and who loved him above all else 
on earth, save only his mother. The two boys went 
together to school, and together to the university; 
together they passed the two preliminary exami- 
> 54 


The Fisher Maiden 


nations, and now they were about to enter on 
their professional studies together. One day, after 
finishing their accustomed portion of reading, as 
they were merrily going downstairs, Hans in mere 
joyfulness of heart sprang upon his comrade’s 
back; the latter slipped, and a few days later lay 
dead. The dying youth begged his mother — a 
widow, now about to lose her only child — to grant 
him the wish of his heart, and let Hans fill her 
son’s place. The mother scarce outlived her son, 
leaving, by her will, all her property, which was 
considerable, to Hans Oedegaard. 

It was many months ere Hans was at all himself 
again after this terrible event. A long journey 
abroad so far restored him as to enable him to go 
on with his theological studies till he was ready 
for holy orders; but nothing could induce him to 
make use of them. 

The whole hope of the father’s life had been to 
see his son his helper with his flock, and now it was 
not possible to get him even to ascend the pulpit; 
he gave to all entreaty the constant answer — he felt 
no call. It was a bitter disappointment to the 
father, and it made him years and years older. 
He had settled down to his work late in life ; he 
55 


The Fisher Maiden 


was now quite an old man, and all his work had 
been done with all his strength and with this one 
object ever before him. And now in the same house 
dwelt the son, in his stately suite of rooms above, 
while down below the father worked strenuously 
in his little study, with the lamp that lighted up the 
night of his old age beside him. He neither could 
nor would take the help of a stranger after his dis- 
appointment at home, nor would he follow his son^s 
advice and give up work; therefore he knew no 
rest, summer or winter. But every year the son’s 
journey abroad grew longer. When he was at 
home he associated with no one, save that, in more 
or less silence, he dined daily at his father’s table. 
But any one who talked to him always met with 
such clearness of judgment and zeal for truth that 
it was difficult to argue against him. He was never 
at church, but he gave more than half his income 
for benevolent purposes, and always with most 
careful injunctions as to its use. 

Charity on such a large scale was a thing so dif- 
ferent from the little town’s narrow ideas that it 
overwhelmed everybody. Besides this, his reserve, 
his constant journeyings abroad, and the fear all 
felt of talking with him, made him, as may easily 
56 


The Fisher Maiden 


be supposed, a mysterious sort of being in their 
eyes, and they gave him credit, not only for the 
common sense and ability he possessed, but for 
all possible talents as well. When this man, 
then, condescended to take the ‘‘Fisher GirP’ 
into his daily care, she rose vastly in their esti- 
mation. 

One after another of them — chiefly women — 
now tried to look after her as well. She came to 
him one day, dressed out in all the colors of the 
rainbow; she had put all her finery on, thinking 
that now she surely must be looking as he liked 
to see her, for he always wanted her to look neat. 
But he no sooner saw her than he forbade her ever 
to take anything from anybody again. He called 
her vain and silly; he said that she only gave her 
mind to foolish objects, and cared for nothing but 
frivolity. When she came next morning with eyes 
red with weeping, he took her with him for a walk 
beyond the town. He told her the story of David ; 
for it was his constant habit to take now one, now 
another, well-known character and make him live 
again for her. First he painted him to her as he 
was in his youth, when he walked fair and strong 
and in untroubled faith, so that he had earned a 
57 


The Fisher Maiden 


triumphal procession even before he was of man’s 
age. He was a shepherd, yet called to be king ; he 
dwelt in caves and holes, yet in the end he built 
Jerusalem. In beauteous attire he sat and played 
to the sick Saul, but when he himself was a king, 
and sick, he was clad in the sackcloth of repentance 
as he sat singing and playing to himself. When he 
had done his great work, he sought ease in sin ; but 
the warning and the punishment fell upon him, 
and again he was as a child. David, who could 
upraise the Lord’s chosen people by his songs of 
praise, himself lay crushed at the Lord’s feet. 
When was he best to see; — ^when, crowned with vic- 
tory, he danced to his own music before the ark, 
or when in his own chamber he implored grace at 
the hand of the Chastiser? 

That night Petra had a dream which she never 
forgot all her life after. She was going up, it 
seemed to her, in a triumphal procession, mounted 
on a white horse ; but at the same time she was in 
rags, and dancing in front of it. 

Some time after this, as she was sitting one even- 
ing at the edge of the wood beyond the town, read- 
ing her lesson-books, Pedro Ohlsen, who since that 
day in the garden had been constantly drawing 
58 


The Fisher Maiden 

nearer and nearer to her, walked close by her, and, 
with a curious smile, whispered, “Good-evening.’’ 
Although more than a year had gone by, her 
mother’s command to her about talking with him 
was so strongly impressed on her mind that she 
did not answer him. Nevertheless, day after 
day went by, and ever with the same greeting. 
At last she grew to expect him, if he did not 
come. 

Presently he began to ask some little question or 
other as he walked by, and before long he managed 
to get her to talk too. After one such talk he let 
a silver daler slip down into her lap, and then 
dashed off, happy in his success. Now, it was 
against her mother’s order to talk to him; against 
Oedegaard’s to take gifts of any one. The first 
she had gradually been drawn into transgressing; 
and this was brought vividly to her mind now that 
it had led her to do the same to the other. To get 
rid of the money, she got hold of another girl and 
treated her to sweets; but, in spite of their best 
efforts, it was not possible for them to eat more 
than four kroners’ worth. As soon as she had spent 
the money, she grew angry with herself for not 
having given it back instead. The remaining 
59 


The Fisher Maiden 


krone, as it lay in her pocket, seemed as if it were 
burning a hole in her clothes : she snatched it out 
and flung it into the sea. 

But not by such means was she quit of the money ; 
her thoughts were branded with it. She felt she 
might once again be free if she were to confess; 
but her mother’s terrible wrath and Oedegaard’s 
heartfelt belief in her seemed each in its own way 
too dreadful to be borne. The mother noticed no 
change, but Oedegaard saw at once that something 
was weighing on her and making her wretched. 
He gently asked her what was the matter, and 
when, instead of answering, she burst into tears, 
he thought they must be in want at home, and gave 
her a ten-daler bill. Now that he, in spite of her 
sin against him, should give her money — and 
money, too, that she could openly give her mother, 
for it was money honestly got — made such a power- 
ful impression on her, that she felt as if free from 
guilt again, and gave herself up to an ecstasy of 
joy. She took his hand with both hers, she thanked 
him, she laughed, she danced up and down, and 
rapturous delight beamed through her tears as she 
looked at him as a dog looks at its master when it 
is allowed to go out with him. He scarcely knew 
6o 


The Fisher Maiden 

her: she who generally sat lost in what he was say- 
ing, now was in the ascendent over him. For the 
first time he saw a strong, wild nature, rise up be- 
fore him; for the first time life’s fountain splashed 
forth its red stream over him, and he started back 
blood-hot. But she darted through the door and 
up the hill on her way home. She put down the 
money on the griddle in front of her mother, and 
threw her arms round her neck. 

‘Who gave you this money?” said the mother, 
all aflame in a moment. 

“Oedegaard, mother, Oedegaard! He is the 
finest man in the world!” 

“What am I to do with it?” 

“I don’t know — Oh, mother dear, if you 
knew—” and she threw her arms round her 
mother’s neck again, for now she felt she could 
and she would tell her all. 

But Gunlaug impatiently shook herself free. 

“Would you have me take alms?” she cried. 
Take this money back to him! If you’ve let him 
think that we were in want, you’ve cheated 
him!” 

“But mother — ” 

“Take his money back to him on the spot, I tell 

6i 


The Fisher Maiden 


you, or else I’ll go myself and throw it back at him 
— at him, who has stolen my child from me!” 

The mother’s lips were trembling as she said 
these last words. Petra moved away, more and 
more pale, softly opened the door and slowly 
walked out of the house. 

Before she well knew it, the ten-daler bill was 
torn to atoms between her fingers; when she real- 
ized this, she broke forth into a torrent of angry 
indignation against her mother. But Oedegaard 
must know nothing of this! Or rather, yes, he 
should know all! There must be nothing kept 
back from him! 

A moment later she was standing in his room 
telling him that her mother would not take the 
money, and that she, in her anger at having to 
come back with it, had torn the bill in pieces. She 
was going on to tell him the rest, but he looked at 
her coldly, and bade her go home again, recom- 
mending her at the same time to obey her mother, 
even when it was difficult for her. This sounded 
very strange to her, for she knew that he at any 
rate did not do what his father wanted him of all 
things to do. On her way home, her grief and 
passion burst forth again, and just at that moment 
62 


The Fisher Maiden 

she met Pedro Ohlsen. She had purposely kept 
out of his way all this time, for he was the cause 
of all her woes. 

‘Where have you been?” he asked, walking 
along by her side. “Is anything the matter with 
you?” 

There was such a tempest in her heart that it 
might cast her where it would. Carried away by 
her feelings, she could not see why her mother 
should have forbidden her to have anything to do 
with just this one person : it was only another whim 
of hers, of course, thought she. 

“Shall I tell you what IVe been doing?” he 
said, in an entreating tone, as she stopped. “IVe 
bought you a sailboat; I thought you might like 
to sail;” and he gave a laugh. 

His kindness, which had something in it of a 
humble appeal for friendship, was just the thing 
to touch her at that moment; she nodded; and he 
with busy, eager air, whispered to her to go out 
beyond the town into the lane to the right, until 
she got to the big yellow boathouse: he would 
come and fetch her from behind it, and no one 
would see it there. Off she went, and presently 
he came for her, all happiness and good behavior, 

63 


The Fisher Maiden 


and as if he were a big boy. They sailed about 
for a while in the light breeze; then they lay to by 
an island, made the boat fast, and got out. He 
had all sorts of nice things with him, which he 
gave her with trembling joy; then taking out his 
flute, he began to play. For a while she forgot 
her sorrow as she watched his joy; and as the feel- 
ing of pity that comes of watching the happiness 
of the weak grew upon her, she began to take a 
liking to him. 

After that day she had a new and constant secret 
to keep from her mother, so that before long she 
kept her mother from knowing about any of her 
doings. Gunlaug asked no questions; she trusted 
people entirely, until she entirely mistrusted them. 
But from that day Petra had a thing to keep secret 
from Oedegaard as well; for she took many a 
present from Pedro Ohlsen. Nor did Oedegaard 
ask any questions, but he grew day by day more 
formal and distant with her at her studies. So 
Petra was now divided among three persons: 
she never spoke to one about either of the others, 
for she had some special secret to guard from 
each. 

Meanwhile she was now grown up, though she 
64 


The Fisher Maiden 


herself did not yet know it One day Oedegaard 
told her that it was time for her to be confirmed. 

This information filled her with great unrest; for 
she knew that with confirmation her lessons would 
come to an end, and what was to happen then? 

Her mother had a little attic arranged for her, 
for, after confirmation, Petra was to have a room 
of her own : the incessant hammering and nailing 
were painful reminders to her. Oedegaard noticed 
that she was growing more and more silent, and 
sometimes, too, he saw that she had been weeping. 
Religious instruction made great impression under 
these circumstances, though Oedegaard with ten- 
der care avoided everything that might touch her 
too deeply. It was for this reason that some fort- 
night before confirmation he closed his lesson with 
the simple remark that that was their last. He 
meant the last with himself; for he intended to 
look after her; but others, and not he, were to be 
her teachers. She, however, sat motionless in her 
chair; the blood left her cheeks; her eyes were 
never moved from his face. Touched by her emo- 
tion, he involuntarily sought to give his reason. 

“Of course all girls are not grown up by confir- 
mation time ; but you feel, I’m sure, that you are.” 

65 


The Fisher Maiden 


If she had been standing in the full light of a 
great fire, she could not have been redder than she 
was at these words. Her bosom heaved, her eyes 
looked timidly about her and were full of tears, 
and Oedegaard, still more perplexed, hastily 
went on : 

“Would you like to go on all the same, though?” 

The moment he had said it, he saw what it was 
that he had proposed, and that it was a wrong 
thing to have done ; he would have tried to with- 
draw it, but already she had raised her eyes to his, 
and though she did not say “Yes” with her lips, 
yet it could not have been said more clearly. To 
ease his own conscience by giving himself an ex- 
cuse, he asked her: 

“Isn’t there anything in especial that you would 
like to take up? Anything that — ” and he bent 
toward her, “anything that you feel a call for, 
Petra?” 

“No!” she answered, so sharply that he red- 
dened, and, growing cooler, fell back into the 
meditations which for long years had filled his 
thoughts, and which her unexpected answer had 
now reawakened. 

That there was something remarkable in the 
66 


The Fisher Maiden 

girl he had never doubted since the time when she 
was a child, and he had been used to seeing her 
march about singing at the head of the town’s 
street boys. But the longer he taught her, the less 
he understood the natural bent of her talents and 
powers. There was evidence of them in every 
movement: whatever she happened to be thinking, 
to be wanting, that her whole body and spirit por- 
trayed, with all the fulness of her strength and the 
glory of her beauty. Yet in words — ^still more in 
writing — her thoughts were mere childishness. 
She seemed to be nothing but wayward imagina- 
tion, though, to be sure, Oedegaard put most of 
that down to restlessness. She was very diligent 
in her work, but always her object seemed to be 
to get through her lessons, rather than to learn 
anything; what there would be on the next page 
was what her thoughts were busy with. She had 
religious emotions, but, as the priest put it, ‘‘no 
turn for a religious life.” 

Oedegaard was often in perplexity as to her 
future. Once more he seemed to be at the starting- 
point, and his thoughts flew of their own accord 
to the stone steps where he had first taken her into 
his care; once more he seemed to hear the mother’s 
67 


The Fisher Maiden 


sharp tones as she laid the responsibility on him, 
because he had named the Lord. He walked up 
and down the room several times, and then, pull- 
ing himself together, spoke : 

‘‘I am going abroad,” he said, with a certain 
amount of hesitation; “I have asked my sisters to 
look after you meanwhile, and when I come back 
again we’ll see what more is to be done. Fare- 
well ! we shall see one another again before I go 1” 

He walked away so quickly into the next room 
that she did not have time even to take his hand. 

When she saw him again it was where she least 
expected it, and that was in the pulpit just before 
her, as she stood up in the church among the flock 
of maidens for confirmation. This so excited her 
that her thoughts were far, far from the holy rite 
for which he had prepared her in humility and 
prayer. 

Yes, but Oedegaard’s old father’s thoughts were 
straying too: he paused and gazed long at his son^ 
as he stepped forth to begin the ceremony. 

Petra was destined to another surprise that 
morning; for somewhat lower down sat Pedro 
Ohlsen, in stiff, new clothes ; he stretched out his 
head so as to be able to look over the heads of the 
68 


The Fisher Maiden 


boys at her among the flock of girls! He ducked 
down again at once; but she saw him again and 
again thrust up his head with its scant covering 
of hair, and bob down again. It distracted her 
thoughts; she tried not to see, but could not help 
looking; and just at the moment when all the 
others were deeply affected — many of them, in- 
deed, in tears — Petra was shocked to see Pedro 
standing up with his mouth and eyes wide open 
and motionless, and . his whole body apparently 
paralyzed. He seemed to have no power either 
to sit down or go away, for opposite him stood 
Gunlaug, in all her majestic height. Petra shud- 
dered to see her mother, for her face was white as 
the altar-cloth. Her black curly hair seemed to 
be rising up, her eyes to have a power to thrust 
him off, as if they were saying: “Away from her! 
what have you to do with her?” At length he 
sank down on his seat beneath her gaze, and very 
soon afterward sneaked out of the church. 

Presently Petra began to grow calmer, and the 
longer she listened the more earnest she grew. 
And when now she turned back from the altar, 
after giving her confirmation-promise, and looked 
through her tears at Oedegaard, who stood near- 
69 


The Fisher Maiden 


est to all her good resolves, she promised in her 
heart that she would never turn his trust to shame. 
He seemed to be praying for the same, as his steady 
eye shone upon her; but when she got back to her 
place and sought him out again, he was gone. 
She went home at once with her mother, who, on 
the way, let fall : 

“Well, now my part with you’s done; now let 
the Lord do His!” 

When they had finished dinner — mother and 
daughter had dined alone together — Gunlaug 
said, as she rose : 

“Well, now we’ll go and see him — the parson’s 
son, I mean. I don’t know what’s the good of 
what he’s been doing, but anyway he’s meant well. 
Put on your things again, child.” 

The road to the church, which these two had 
often walked together, lay above the town, and 
they had never before been seen together in the 
street through the town; indeed, the mother had 
scarcely been there since she had come back. Now 
she turned down into the street at once ; she wanted 
to walk through the whole length of it — she with 
her grown-up daughter! 

On the afternoon of Confirmation Sunday the 
70 


The Fisher Maiden 


folks in such a little town are all to be seen in the 
streets, either on their way from house to house 
with congratulations, or walking up and down 
just to see and be seen. At every step there is a 
pause and a greeting, a hand-shake and a kindly 
wish; the poorer children, clad in the half-worn 
garments of the richer ones, walk about to show 
themselves and their gratitude; the sailors of the 
place, dressed in outlandish finery and with hats 
aslant, and the town fops — the clerks — go about in 
troops, greeting and being greeted; the half- 
grown-up lads from the Latin school, each arm- 
in-arm with his best friend in the world, saunter 
about, uttering their half-grown-up criticisms; but 
to-day all in their hearts must perforce feel them- 
selves inferior to Yngve Void, the lion of the town, 
the young merchant, the richest man in the place, 
who has just come back from Spain, all ready and 
able to take over his mother’s huge fish business. 

With a yellow hat over his yellow curls he 
flashed through the streets, and the young girls 
and lads just confirmed were wellnigh forgotten; 
for all turned to welcome him, and he talked with 
every one, laughed at every one. Up and down 
the street you could see his bright hair and hat, 

71 


The Fisher Maiden 


and hear his bright laugh. When Petra and her 
mother came out, he was the first they stumbled 
upon, and, as if they really had done so, he started 
back from Petra, whom he no longer knew. 

She had grown tall; not so tall as her mother, 
but still taller than most women: she was graceful 
in her carriage, refined, and yet spirited-looking: 
her mother, and yet not her mother, in constant al- 
ternation. Even the young merchant, who walked 
along near them, could no longer draw the passer- 
by’s eyes on himself now: these two, mother and 
daughter together, were a rarer sight. They 
walked briskly, greeting no one, for they were 
seldom addressed by any but seamen; and they 
quickened their pace as they walked back down 
the street, for they heard that Oedegaard had 
just left home for the steamer, which was about 
to start. 

Petra hurried most; she must, yes, she must bid 
him farewell and thank him before he went. Oh, 
it was too bad of him to go away from her like 
that! She looked at none of all the many that 
looked at her; it was the smoke from the steamer 
rising above the houses that she saw, and it seemed 
to her to be moving away. When they got to the 

72 


The Fisher Maiden 


quay the steamer was just putting off, and it was 
with a sob in her throat that she hastened away 
to the lanes leading to the beach, jumping along 
rather than walking, her mother striding after 
her. As it had taken the steamer some time to 
clear the harbor, she was early enough to be able 
to jump down on the beach, spring upon a rock, 
and wave her pocket-handkerchief vigorously. 
The mother stood back in the lane and would 
not go down. Petra waved higher and higher, 
but no one on the steamer waved back. 

Then she could hold out no longer, and, for 
weeping’s sake, must needs go home by the road 
above the town. Her mother walked along with 
her in utter silence. The attic that Gunlaug had 
given her that day, and in which for the first time 
she had slept the night before, and dressed herself 
so joyously in her new clothes that morning, re- 
ceived her that evening all in tears, and with no 
eyes for aught around her. She refused to go 
downstairs, where guests and seamen had assem- 
bled. She took off her confirmation garb and sat 
on the bed till nightfall ; and it seemed to her that 
the dreariest thing in the whole world was to be 
grown up. 


VoL. 6 


73 


(B)-D 


The Fisher Maiden 


CHAPTER IV 

A CHAIN OF GOLD 

One day, soon after her confirmation, Petra 
went over to Oedegaard’s sisters’, but she perceived 
at once that her going there was a mistake ; for the 
priest went about his work so that she never saw 
him, and his daughters — all older than Hans — 
were cold and reserved. They contented them- 
selves with giving her scant directions from their 
brother as to what she should do. She was to go 
and spend the whole morning in taking part in the 
housekeeping work of a house beyond the town, 
and the afternoon in the sewing-school; she was 
to sleep and have her morning and evening meal 
at her own home. She did as she was bid, and 
liked it well enough so long as it was new; but 
after a while, and especially when summer came 
on, she began to grow tired of it, for at that time 
of the year she had been in the habit of spending 
the whole day in the woods, reading her books, 
74 


The Fisher Maiden 


and with all her heart she longed for them again, 
as she longed for Oedegaard and as she longed for 
some one to talk to. The consequence was that 
she took such companionship as she could find. 

Now, it happened that about this time there 
came to the sewing-school a young girl named 
Lise Light — at least Lise, but not really Light, for 
Light was the name of a young cadet who had been 
at home at Christmas-time, and had got engaged 
to her on the ice, when she was only a schoolgirl. 
Lise declared she was ready to die on the spot if 
there was a word of truth in it, and shed tears if 
any one mentioned it; meanwhile all the girls 
called her Lise Light. This emotional little Lise 
Light wept often and often laughed; but whether 
she was weeping or whether she was laughing her 
thoughts were always running on love. 

The whole school was soon filled by a swarm 
of new and wonderful thoughts. If a hand was 
stretched out for the reel, the hand was the wooer, 
and the reel said “Yes,” or “No.” The needle was 
plighted to the thread, and the thread was offer- 
ing itself up, stitch after stitch, for its cruel lover’s 
sake. Did any girl prick herself, she was pour- 
ing forth her heart’s blood ; did any exchange her 
75 


The Fisher Maiden 

needle, she was fickle-hearted. If two girls were 
seen whispering together, it must be because there 
was some secret confidence between them ; straight- 
way two more began to whisper, and then another 
two; each had her own bosom friend, and there 
were a thousand mysteries in the air. Such a state 
of things could not last. 

One afternoon, toward twilight, Petra was 
standing outside the house with a big handker- 
chief over her head, for there was a fine drizzling 
sort of rain about. She was looking in the direc- 
tion of a young seaman, who was standing in the 
alley whistling a waltz ; and though she was hold- 
ing the ends of the handkerchief tight under her 
chin with both hands, so that only mouth and nose 
could be seen, the seaman, with cheerful readiness, 
discovered that she was looking for him, and 
quickly sprang to where she stood. 

“I say, Gunnar,’’ she said, “will you come for a 
walk?” 

“Why, it’s raining!” 

“Pooh! that’s nothing!” she answered; and they 
made their way to a cottage farther up the hill. 

“Buy me some cakes,” said she; “those with 
cream on them, I mean.” 

76 


The Fisher Maiden 

“Why, you’re always wanting cakes!” 

“Those with cream, I say!” she repeated; and 
he presently came out again with them. She 
stretched out her hand from beneath her wrap, 
drew them in, and went along eating. When they 
had got right above the town, she handed him a bit 
of cake, and said: 

“Listen, Gunnar! We two have always stuck 
to one another, haven’t we? I have always liked 
you better than all the other boys. You believe 
that, don’t you? It’s true, I can tell you! And 
now that you’re second mate, and will soon get to 
command a ship, you ought to get engaged, I think, 
Gunnar. But aren’t you going to eat your cake?” 

“No; I’ve just taken a chew.” 

“Well, what do you say to what I said?” 

“Oh, there’s no hurry about that.” 

“No hurry! why, you’re going to sail the day 
after to-morrow!” 

“Yes; but I’m coming back again, I suppose, am 
I not?” 

“Yes, of course; but it’s very uncertain whether 
I shall have the opportunity then, for you don’t 
know where I may be by that time.” 

“What! am I to be engaged to you then?” 

77 


The Fisher Maiden 


“Yes, of course, Gunnar; you ought to have seen 
that. But you’re always so stupid at seeing things, 
and that’s why you’re only a sailor.” 

“Oh, I don’t mind that; it’s good enough to be 
a sailor.” 

“That’s true, because your mother owns a ship. 
But what do you say now? You are such a slow 
coach!” 

“Why, what can I say?” 

“What can you say? Ha, ha, ha! Perhaps you 
won’t have me?” 

“Ah, Petra! you know better than that! Indeed 
I will. But I don’t believe I can rely on you.” 

“Oh, yes, Gunnar! I shall be true — so true — to 
you.” 

He stood silent for a moment, and then : 

“Let me look at your face, Petra,” he said. 

“Why?” 

“I want to see if you’re really in earnest.” 

“Do you think I’m joking, Gunnar?” she asked, 
provoked ; and she raised her kerchief. 

“Well Petra, if it’s real, sober earnest, give me 
a kiss, so that I may know it’s all right.” 

“Are you mad?” she cried, pulling the kerchief 
over her again, and walking fast away. 

78 


The Fisher Maiden 

“Stop, Petra, stop! You don’t understand. Now 
that we’re sweethearts — ” 

“Oh, stuff and nonsense!” 

“Well, I know what’s the proper thing, don’t I? 
I’ve seen far more of the world than you have. 
Just think of all that I’ve seen.” 

“Seen! Why, you’ve used your eyes like a num- 
skull ; and your talk’s as silly as your sight.” 

“Well, then, what do you understand by our 
being sweethearts, eh, Petra? I suppose I may 
ask that much? To run up hills after one another 
doesn’t seem to me much like it.” 

“No, that’s true enough,” she laughed, as she 
checked her pace. “But listen, now, Gunnar; and 
while we stand here and get breath I’ll explain to 
you how lovers should behave to one another. So 
long as you are in the town, you shall wait outside 
the sewing-school every evening, and go home with 
me to our door; and if ever I go to any other house, 
you must wait in the street for me till I come. 
And when you’re abroad, you must write to me, 
and buy things and send them me. Ah, I forgot! 
We shall want a couple of rings, with your name 
in one and mine in the other, with the year and the 
day of the month stamped on them, to give to one 
79 


The Fisher Maiden 

another; but, as I’ve got no money, you must buy 
them both.” 

“That I’ll do willingly enough ; but — ” 

“Well, what do you want now with your ‘buts’?” 

“Good Lord! I was only thinking that I must 
get the measure of your finger.” 

“That you shall, and at once,” she said, as she 
plucked up a piece of grass, measured her finger 
with it, and handed it him, saying: 

“Don’t throw it away, now.” 

He wrapped it up in a piece of paper and put 
the paper in his pocketbook. She kept her eye on 
him till the pocketbook was safely put away again. 

“Let’s go back, now,” she said; “I’m tired of 
staying out longer.” 

“Well, I must say, it seems to me it’s rather mean 
of you, Petra — ” 

“Oh, very well, my dear boy; if you don’t like it, 
I dare say I can manage all right without you 1” 

“Oh, of course, it’s not that! But mustn’t I even 
take your hand?” 

“What for?” 

“To make certain that we really are engaged 
now?” 

“How silly! As if it could make it more cer-^ 
8o 


The Fisher Maiden 


tain, if we catch hold of each other’s hands! Oh, 
well! you’re quite welcome to, if you want to — 
there’s my hand^ — no, I don’t want it squeezed, 
thank you!” and she drew it back again beneath 
her wrap, and at the same time raised the kerchief 
with both hands, so that her whole face was once 
more visible, as she went on: 

“If you tell anybody about this, Gunnar, I’ll just 
say that it’s all untrue; do you understand?” and 
she laughed, and began to go down the hill again. 

Presently she stopped once more: 

“To-morrow evening the sewing-class will be 
over at nine o’clock, so you can be waiting behind 
the house then.” 

“All right” 

“Yes, but now go!” 

“Won’t you give me your hand to say good-by?” 

“I don’t see what you keep wanting my hand for. 
No — you shan’t have it now. Good-by!” and she 
bounded off from him. 

Next evening she contrived to be the last to leave 
the sewing-school, and the clock was on the stroke 
of ten as she came out of the house ; but when she 
got into the garden there was no Gunnar there. 
She had run over in her fancy all possible mis- 
8i 


The Fisher Maiden 

chances, save that alone; she was so certain that 
he would come that she waited just to be able to 
give it him well when he did. She was pleas- 
antly enough entertained as she walked up and 
down the garden, for the Merchants’ Glee Club 
in the house close by had just begun practising; the 
window was open, and a Spanish song so enchanted 
her as it fell upon the soft evening air that she 
seemed to be herself in Spain and hearing its songs 
of praise sung from the high altar. 

Spain was the land of her heart’s desire. Every 
summer brought the black Spanish hulls to the 
harbor, and then songs of Spain echoed through 
the streets of the little town. On Oedegaard’s wall 
there hung a series of beautiful pictures of Spain, 
and very likely even now he was there, and she — 
she was with him! But she was brought back to 
herself again; for there, behind the apple tree, 
came Gunnar at last, hurrying along — no, not 
Gunnar, as she recognized, with a start, but the 
young merchant who had come back from Spain, 
Yngve of the yellow hair and yellow hat. 

“Ha, ha, ha!” rang out his lightsome laugh, 
“did you take me for some one else?” 

“No!” she said, with angry abruptness, and 
82 


The Fisher Maiden 

dashed away in affright; but he sped after her, 
chattering away without ceasing as he ran, talking 
very quickly all the while with the glib fluency 
that men used to speaking various tongues acquire. 

“See, I can keep up with you; I run very fast — 
running away’s no good — I must talk to you: 
this is the eighth evening IVe been waiting 
here.” 

“The eighth evening!” 

“Yes, the eighth evening! and I’d gladly wait 
another eight to meet you, wouldn’t I? It’s no 
good your running; I won’t let you get away from 
me, and you’re tired now, I can see.” 

“No, I’m not!” 

“Yes, you are!” 

“No, I’m not!” 

“Yes, you are! Talk, if you’re not tired, 
then!” 

“Ha, ha, ha!” she laughed. 

“Ha, ha, ha!” he echoed. “Pooh, do you call 
that talking?” and they both came to a standstill. 

Half in jest, half in earnest, they exchanged a 
few light words. He began to praise Spain, and 
one glowing description followed another, and he 
wound up with a curse for the little town at their 

83 


The Fisher Maiden 


feet Petra’s eyes lighted up when he began to 
talk of Spain ; it made her ears tingle to hear him ; 
her gaze rested on the gold chain which he wore 
twice twisted round his neck. 

^^This chain,” said he, suddenly, as he drew 
forth the end of it to which was fastened a gold 
cross, “this chain I brought to show the singing- 
club this evening; it comes from Spain. You shall 
hear its history,” he continued. 

“When I was in the South of Spain, I once went 
to a shooting-match and won the prize. At the 
banquet in the evening it was handed to me with 
these words: Take it with you to the North, and, 
with all respectful reverence from the gentlemen 
of Spain, give it to the fairest maiden in your native 
town.’ Then the trumpets sang forth, the flags 
waved, the cavaliers applauded loudly, and I took 
the prize I” 

“Oh, how beautiful!” burst forth from Petra’s 
lips; for straightway there stood clear before her 
the Spanish festival with its bright Spanish colors 
and songs, and swarthy Spaniards, lighted up by 
the rays of the sun as it set over the vine-clad hills, 
turning their thoughts to the fairest maiden in the 
land of snow and ice. 


84 


The Fisher Maiden 

Yngve was a young man of good disposition, de- 
spite his marvelous forwardness and self-conceit, 
and he went on telling her of these things. One 
story after another increased her longing for that 
wondrous land, and now, transported there in 
fancy, she began to hum the Spanish song that she 
had heard a short while before, and gradually to 
keep time to it with her feet. 

“What!” he cried, “can you dance the Spanish 
dance?” 

“Yes,” she sang, her feet following the music, 
and with her fingers imitating castanets, as she had 
seen the Spanish sailors do. 

“Fow deserve the Spaniards’ gift!” he burst out, 
as if the thought had suddenly struck him ; “you are 
the fairest maiden I have met with!” And he had 
taken the gold chain from his neck and twined it 
dexterously and many times round hers, before she 
well knew what he was about. 

But when she realized what he had done, the 
deep flush, peculiar to herself, swept over her face, 
and the tears seemed about to gush forth from her 
eyes, so that Yngve, who had gone from one stage 
of wonder to another, was now stricken by a feel- 
ing of deep shame at what he had done, and knew 

85 


The Fisher Maiden 


not what more he would have. His one feeling 
was that he had better go — so he went. 

At midnight she was still standing by the open 
window of her attic, the chain in her hand. Gently 
lay the night of midsummer over town and fjord and 
distant hill; from the street came once again the 
sound of the Spanish song, for the glee club had 
gone home with Yngve Void. Two voices only 
were singing the words, and the rest were imitating 
with their mouths the accompaniment of a guitar. 
Their song was of a beautiful garland, and she 
heard distinct and clear every word of it: 

“Take this wreath and think of me, 

Take this wreath — ’tis fit for thee: 

Greenest leaves and blossoms brightest 
For the lass of lassies fairest ; 

Blushing roses, lilies whitest. 

For the maiden purest, rarest. 

Take this garland, fit for thee, 

Take it — and forget not me.’' 

When she opened her eyes next morning, it 
seemed to her she had been in a wood where the 
sun shone upon every part of it, and all the trees 
86 


The Fisher Maiden 


were golden laburnums, from which hung long, 
shining clusters of blossom that nearly touched her 
as she made her way through. Straightway her 
thoughts flew to the chain : she seized it and flung 
it on over her nightdress; then she put a black 
handkerchief over the white linen, and put the 
chain on over that, for it looked better against the 
black. Still sitting on her bed, she looked at her- 
self in the little hand-mirror, and wondered if she 
really were so pretty. She got up to do her hair. 
Suddenly she remembered that her mother as yet 
knew nothing about it: she must be quick and go 
down and tell her all. Just as she had finished 
dressing and was about to twine the chain round 
her neck, it occurred to her to wonder what her 
mother would say, what everybody would say, and 
what she should answer when they asked her why 
she wore that costly chain. The question was a 
very reasonable one, and seemed to her more and 
more difficult to answer every moment. At length 
she drew forth a little box, laid the chain in it, 
thrust the box into her pocket, and, for the first 
time in her life, felt what it was to be poor. 

She did not go to her proper work that morning, 
but she sat up above the town, near the place where 
37 ^ 


The Fisher Maiden 


the chain had been given her, holding it in her 
hand and feeling as if she had stolen it. 

That evening she v^aited behind the garden for 
Yngve Void even longer than she had waited for 
Gunnar the night before: she meant to give him 
back the chain. But, as it happened, Gunnar’s 
ship had unexpectedly set sail the previous day, 
because there was a large amount of freight for 
it in the next port, and Yngve Void, who owned it, 
had had to set off about the same business. He had 
plenty to do there besides, and so it was three 
weeks before he returned. 

During these three weeks the chain had moved 
first from her pocket to the chest of drawers, thence 
into an envelope, and the envelope had been put 
into a secret place, while she had been moving 
from one humiliating discovery to another. Now 
for the first time she was fully aware of the dis- 
tance which separated her from the ladies of the 
town; any of them might have worn the chain 
without anybody’s asking why or wherefore. But 
Yngve Void would not have dared to offer it to 
any of them, without offering his hand along with 
it; he only dared do such a thing to the Fisher 
Girl. If he had wanted to give her something, 
88 


The Fisher Maiden 

why did he not give her something she could use? 
But he had only wanted to shame her the more 
deeply by giving her something which she could 
not by any possibility make use of. As for his tale 
about “the fairest maid,” that was most likely all 
make-up ; for if the chain had been awarded to her 
on those grounds, he would not have come in se- 
crecy and by night. Anger and shame tortured her 
the more, because she no longer had any one in 
whom she could confide. It was no wonder, then, 
that the first time she met the cause of all her angry 
and humiliating thoughts again she reddened, so 
that he could not, she felt, help misconstruing her 
blush ; and the thought of that made her blush the 
deeper. 

She tore home again, pulled out the chain, and, 
darting out above the town, sat down to wait for 
him, though as yet it was broad daylight. Now he 
should have it back, at any rate! She felt quite 
certain he would come, for, in spite of his absence, 
he had blushed at the sight of her. But presently 
this very thought began to tell in his favor: he 
would not have changed color so if she had been 
nothing to him. He would have come before if he 
had been at home. Twilight was deepening, for 
89 


The Fisher Maiden 


the days had fast been growing shorter during the 
last three weeks. But with the darkness, a change 
often comes over our resolution. She sat among 
the trees just above the road, and could see without 
being seen. She sat thus a little time, but he did 
not come, and it filled her heart with contending 
passions. She listened in anger at one moment, in 
terror the next; she heard the step of the passers- 
by long before she saw them; but it was never he. 
The birds, as they moved dreamily from one perch 
among the leaves overhead to another, were 
enough to frighten her, in her excited state of 
mind: every sound from the town below, every 
cry, startled her. 

On board a great ship in the haven the sailors 
were heaving the anchor, singing as they worked, 
for it was to be towed out that night, to start off 
with the best of the early morning breeze. Oh, 
how she longed to be going with it on the mighty 
deep! The sailors’ parting song seemed her own, 
the clang of the bars in the capstan seemed to give 
her strength to rise — what for? where to? See, 
there in the road, straight in front of her, was the 
yellow hat. She sprang up, and, without further 
thought, started off running, and, as she did so, 
90 


The Fisher Maiden 


remembered that this was just the thing she ought 
not to have done: it was adding error to error; so 
she suddenly stopped. When he got up to where 
she was standing among the trees, her breathing 
was so long and deep that he could hear each sep- 
arate breath, and her fear now had the same power 
over him as before her fearlessness had had. He 
looked at her in embarrassment — almost in be- 
wilderment — as he said, in a low tone: 

“Don’t be frightened.” 

But she was trembling, as he could see. Think- 
ing to give her confidence, he tried to take hold of 
her hand; but she, at the first touch, sprang up all 
on fire, and dashed away again, leaving him stand- 
ing there. 

She did not run far, for her breath was ex- 
hausted; her temples were throbbing and burning; 
her breast seemed as if it would burst; she pressed 
her hands against it, and listened. She heard a step 
in the grass, a rustle in the leaves : he was coming 
straight toward her. Did he see her? No, he 
did not! Yes, he saw her! No, he was going 
past! 

It was not fear that reigned in her heart; but her 
excitement and agitation was such that when she 
91 


The Fisher Maiden 


felt herself safe from him, her strength left her, 
and she sank down, senseless and powerless. 

After a long time she rose and walked slowly 
down the hill, sometimes pausing, sometimes mov- 
ing on again, as if she had no object in her emo- 
tions. When she got down to the road again, he 
was sitting there, patiently waiting for her. He 
got up, but she did not see him, for she was walk- 
ing as if in a dream. She uttered no word, she 
made no gesture; she only laid her hands before 
her eyes and wept. This so completely over- 
whelmed Yngve Void that his tongue — at other 
times so busy — came to a standstill. When at 
length he spoke, it was with a peculiar air of 
determination. 

“This evening,” he said, “I shall speak to my 
mother; to-morrow all shall be arranged, and in a 
few days you shall go abroad to be my wife.” 

He expected her to answer, or, at any rate, to 
look up ; but she did neither. He interpreted this 
in his own fashion. 

“You don’t answer? You can not, I suppose. 
Very well, just rely on me; for from this moment 
you’re mine 1 Good-night.” And with these words 
he left her. 


92 


The Fisher Maiden 


She walked home as if mist-clouds were thick 
about her; a slight feeling of dread glided in 
among them and tried to divide them, but the 
clouds rolled back upon her again. 

All the power that Yngve Void had had over her 
thoughts during the past three weeks had served to 
prepare a way for her mind to take possession of 
this new wonder and this new field for her fancy 
to inhabit. He was the richest man and of the best 
family in the town, and he wanted to lift her up 
to him above all cavil. This was a thing so unex- 
pectedly different from the thoughts she had been 
nourishing of late in her anger and passion that 
it alone was enough to make her feel happy. And 
she grew happier and happier as she more fully 
took in her new and utterly overpowering position. 
She saw herself now inferior to none, and near the 
attainment of all her vague wishes. First and fore- 
most she saw Yngve Void’s largest ship, all decked 
out with flags for their wedding-day, receiving 
them on board, and, after firing off minute-guns 
and sending up rockets, bearing them away to 
Spain, where shines the bridal sun. 

When she woke next day, the maid came in and 
told her that it was half-past eleven! Petra felt 
93 


The Fisher Maiden 


ravenously hungry and asked for food, which was 
brought her; she sent for more and ate it; her head 
was aching and her limbs were weary: she sank 
back to sleep again. When she woke, about three 
o’clock in the afternoon, she felt all right again. 
Her mother came up and said that no doubt she 
had slept her sickness off, she herself often did so ; 
but now, she added, it was time for her to get up 
and go to her sewing-class. Petra sat up in bed 
and leaned her head on her arms; she answered, 
without looking up, that she should never go to 
the sewing-school again. Her mother thought 
that she was still a bit dazed from her long sleep, 
and went down to get a parcel and a letter which 
a ship’s-boy had brought. What! was he sending 
her presents already? 

Petra had lain down again, but she jumped up 
in a moment, and, with a sort of solemnity in her 
manner, opened the parcel as soon as she was alone 
— it contained a pair of French shoes. Somewhat 
disappointed, she was about to put it down, when 
she felt something heavy in the toes. She put in 
her hand, and drew out of one of the toes a little 
tissue-paper parcel; it contained a gold bracelet. 
In the other there was also a little parcel, carefully 
94 


The Fisher Maiden 


wrapped up; it held a pair of French gloves, and 
from the right-hand glove she drew forth yet an- 
other wrapper, in which were folded two gold 
rings. ‘‘Already!” thought Petra, and her heart 
beat as she looked at the inscription; and there, 
sure enough, she saw in the one “Petra,” followed 
by the year and the day of the month ; and in the 
other “Gunnar.” She turned pale; she flung the 
rings and the whole package on the floor as if it 
had burned her fingers, and tore open the letter. 
It was dated from Calais, and read as follows: 

‘‘Dear Petra — Just arrived here, after having had 
good winds from latitude 6i to latitude 54, and later on 
a toughish storm until we got here, which was hard work 
for better ships than ours to make way against, though 
ours is a good ship for going. You must know that all 
the way here Pve been thinking of you, and of what 
happened between us last time ; Pm so angry at not having 
been able to say ‘good-by’ to you properly, that I went on 
board in a very bad temper, but you’ve never been out of 
my mind for a moment, except now and again between 
whiles, for a sailor has a hard time of it, you know. But 
now that we’ve got here, I’ve spent all my wages in pres- 
ents for you, as you asked me to, and the money I got 
95 


The Fisher Maiden 


from mother I spent too, so that now I have none. But if 
I can get leave, I’ll be with you almost as soon as the 
presents; for so long as it’s secret between us, I can’t 
feel certain about other people, especially young men, of 
whom there are so many about ; but I want it known for 
certain, so that no one will have any excuse, and will know 
that he’s got to beware of me. You can easily get a 
better fellow than me, for you can have any one you like ; 
but you’ll never find a more faithful one than I am. Now 
I will stop, because I have used up two sheets of paper, 
and the letters are getting so big, for this is the hardest 
thing I have had to do for you, but I’ll go on doing it all 
the same, because you want me to. And now I end by 
saying that you were quite in earnest. I’m sure; for if you 
weren’t it would be a great sin, and might bring unhappi- 
ness to many. Gunnar Ask, 

“Second mate of the brig ‘Norwegian Constitution.’ ” 


A great fear fell upon Petra, and in a moment 
she was out of bed and dressed. She must get out, 
and advice must be found somewhere for her; for 
everything now had become confused, uncertain, 
and perilous. The more she thought over things, 
the greater the tangle seemed; she must get help 
from some one, else she would never unravel her- 


The Fisher Maiden 

self from it. But who was there whom she could 
trust? No one, surely, except her mother. When, 
after a long struggle with herself, she was standing 
by her in the kitchen, trembling and tearful, but 
strong in her resolve to trust her fully, and get in 
return her full help, the mother said, without look- 
ing up, and therefore without noticing Petra’s face : 

‘Well, he’s come home again! He’s just been 
here.” 

‘Who?” murmured Petra, and clutched for 
support. If Gunnar were back already, all hope 
was gone. She knew Gunnar; he was slow and 
good-tempered, but once roused to anger, he was 
mad in his wrath. 

“You are to go up there at once, he said,” con- 
tinued the mother. 

“Up there?” she repeated, trembling. She saw 
at once that he had told her mother all about their 
engagement; but what was to happen now? 

“Yes, to the parsonage,” added Gunlaug. 

“To the parsonage? Mother, is it Oedegaard 
who’s come home, then?” 

“Who else should it be?” said the mother, turn- 
ing to look at her. 

“Oedegaard!” shouted Petra, rapturously; and 
97 


VoL. 6 


(B)-E 


The Fisher Maiden 


the storm of joy that swept over her purified all 
the air round her in a moment. “Oedegaard is 
come! Oh, God in heaven, Oedegaard is cornel” 
and she was out of the door and over the fields, 
dancing, laughing, and crying out at the top of 
her voice. It was he — he — he whom she longed 
for; had he been at home, nothing would ever 
have happened! With him she was safe. The 
mere thought of his noble, shining face, his gentle 
voice, nay, even the quiet rooms, with their many 
pictures, in which he dwelt, made her feel more 
peaceful and secure again. 

She took time to compose herself, and looked 
round at the town and country glowing in the 
sunset of autumn, and at the rich radiance that lay 
over the fjord; in the strait beyond, the curling 
smoke of the steamer that had brought Oedegaard 
was just dying away. Oh, merely to know that he 
was at home made her happy, well, and strong 
again! She prayed God to help her in keeping 
Oedegaard from ever leaving her again. And just 
as she was exalted by the mere hope of this, she 
saw him coming smiling toward her; he had 
known which way she would take, and had come 
to meet her! This touched her, and bounding up 
98 


The Fisher Maiden 


to him, she seized both his hands and kissed them ; 
this gave him a feeling of shame, and as he saw 
some one afar off, he drew her off the road and 
back among the trees, holding her hands in his 
while she kept on repeating: 

“How glorious it is that you’ve come! Oh, I 
can hardly believe that it’s you! Oh, you must 
never, never go away again! Don’t leave, oh, 
don’t leave me!” 

Her tears began to flow, and he gently pressed 
her head against his shoulder to hide them; he 
wanted to calm her, for he needed her to be quiet. 
But she laid her head there, as a bird nestles be- 
neath the wing that is raised for it, and she seemed 
as if she would like never to leave it 

Overcome by her trust in him, he put his arm 
round her, as if to assure her of the protection she 
sought; but no sooner was she aware of this than 
she lifted her tearful face to his, her eye met his, 
and all that can be expressed in a look, when re- 
pentance meets love, when gratitude meets the 
giver’s joy, and when yes meets yes, came close 
upon one another. He drew her head to him and 
pressed his lips against hers. He had lost his 
mother early, and since then this was the first time 
99 


The Fisher Maiden 


in his life that he had kissed one of the other sex; 
and she was equally inexperienced. He was trem- 
bling with excitement, but her face beamed with 
blushing joy, as she threw her arms round his neck 
and hung upon him like a child. 

And when they sat down and she could touch 
with her hands his hair, his breast-pin, his neck- 
cloth, and all that she had before looked at from a 
respectful distance; and when he bade her say 
“thou” to him instead of “you” she could not; 
and when he tried to tell her how rich she had 
made his poor life from the moment of their first 
meeting, and how long he had struggled against 
his love so that it might not check her develop- 
ment, and so that he might not repay himself for 
his pains thus; and when he discovered that she 
was not in a state to take in or understand a word 
of what he was saying; and when he himself be- 
gan to see little sense in it; and when she wanted to 
go home with him at once, and he had laughingly 
to ask her to wait a few days’ time, so that they 
might travel away from the town together — then 
they felt, then they said, as they sat there among 
the trees, with fjord and mountain lying before 
them deep in the evening sun, that this indeed was 


100 


The Fisher Maiden 


happiness. And afar off in the wood sounded the 
notes of a horn, and the words of a song, telling 
them it was so : 

“Ah, sweet is Love’s first meeting 
As song amid the trees, 

Or in the sunset fleeting, 

Borne o’er the red’ning seas, 

The sound of Nature’s voices. 

Whose mystic tones of love 
Make for a span the soul of man 
Even as souls above.” 


lOI 


The Fisher Maiden 


CHAPTER V 

PETRA’S LOVERS MEET 

Next morning Petra sat half-dressed in her 
room, and the whole day long she could get no 
further. Every time she made a new attempt, her 
arms sank back into her lap. Like the harebells 
in the fields, like the ear laden with grain, her 
thoughts bowed beneath their own weight. Peace, 
trustfulness, and all beauteous visions hovered 
above the airy castle wherein her soul dwelt. She 
went over all yesterday’s meeting again and again 
— each word, each look, each pressure of the hand, 
each lover’s kiss; she tried to go through it all, 
from their meeting to their parting, but it was in 
vain; for each separate thought led her into bright 
visions of the future, visions full of the promise 
of happiness. Sweet as these were, she must put 
them away from her, so as to try to call to mind 
where she broke off; but as soon as she had done 
so she plunged again into new wondrous dreams. 

As she did not come down, her mother thought 


102 


The Fisher Maiden 


that she must have begun her lessons again, now 
that Oedegaard was back; her meals were sent up 
to her, and she was to be left in peace the whole 
day. Not till evening was coming on did she rise 
and make herself ready; for now she was to go and 
meet her love. She put on her confirmation-dress 
— the best she had ; it was not much to look at, but 
she had never perceived that before. She had had 
little taste in dress till now, but to-day it came 
upon her; one thing, she felt, did not match an- 
other properly, and when she had got them right, 
it still seemed to her not at all pretty. To-day she 
would have given anything to have really been 
‘‘the fairest” ; and as the words came into her mind, 
she put out her hands to thrust them off. Nothing, 
nothing should to-day be allowed to trouble her 
peace. She walked quietly about, gently putting 
one thing and another in its place about the room, 
for the time was not yet come. She opened the 
window and looked out; red, warm clouds lay en- 
camped athwart the mountains; but the cool air 
flowed in with tidings from the woods hard by. 
“I am coming, I am coming!” it breathed, and she 
turned and went to the mirror to greet the bride 
there. 


103 


The Fisher Maiden 


Just then she heard Oedegaard’s voice talking to 
her mother below; she heard him being told 
where her room was: he was coming to fetch her! 
A strange wild feeling of joy thrilled through her, 
as she turned to see that everything was fit for him, 
and moved toward the door. 

There came a gentle knock. ^^Come in,” she 
answered softly, and stepped back a pace or two. 

When Oedegaard had rung for his coffee that 
morning he was told that Yngve Void, the mer- 
chant, had already called twice to see him. It 
jarred upon him to let a stranger enter upon his 
thoughts just on that day, but he felt that one who 
sought him so early must certainly have important 
business; moreover, he was scarcely dressed before 
Yngve Void came again. 

“Good-morning,” he said. “You’re surprised, 
of course, at my being here? Well, so am I my- 
self.” 

Oedegaard returned his salutation, and Yngve 
laid down his hat. 

“You lie abed late,” he went on; “I have been 
here twice before. I have something on my mind 
that I must talk with you about.” 

104 


The Fisher Maiden 


‘Won’t you take a seat?” said the other, seating 
himself in an armchair. 

“Thanks, thanks; I prefer to walk about: I am 
too excited to keep still. Since the day before yes- 
terday I’ve been mad, clean mad, I believe, neither 
more nor less; and the fault is yours — ^yours!” 

“Mine!” 

“Yes, yours. Nobody had thought of the wench 
till you got hold of her; nobody took any notice of 
her till you brought her out. But now, any way, 
I’ve never seen anything like her, anything to come 
up to her, I tell you! In all Europe, I’ve never 
seen such a cursed marvelous little curly-haired 
creature — have you? I couldn’t sleep because of 
her; I must have been bewitched; she was every- 
where and always before my eyes. I took a voy- 
age — I came back again — it was all no good, I 
tell you. I didn’t even know who she was at first. 
The “Fisher Girl,” they call her — gipsy, they 
ought to say, Spanish gipsy, witch — ^with her eyes, 
her breast, her hair all aglow. She jumps and 
dances about, flashing, laughing, sparkling, sing- 
ing — a little devil, a veritable little devil. I ran 
after her one quiet night, you see, up among the 
trees in the wood yonder. She stopped, I stopped 

105 


The Fisher Maiden 

— a few words, a song, a dance — and then? Why 
then I gave her the chain I had with me ; as true 
as I stand here, I’d had no thought of doing so 
the moment before I Next time, at the same spot, 
the same chase for her; she was frightened, and I 
— will you believe it? — I couldn’t speak a single 
word, daren’t even touch her; and when she came 
again — can you believe me? — I offered to marry 
her, though I’d never thought of such a thing be- 
fore! Yesterday I made up my mind to try my- 
self and keep away from her, but, upon my heart 
and soul, I must be mad, stark mad; I can not do 
it; I must be with her; if I don’t get her I’ll shoot 
myself, honor bright I will, and that’s the whole 
story. What do I care for my mother — devil take 
her! — or for this little town, this wretched little 
hole of a place. She shall get away from here, do 
you see, right away and far above this town; she 
shall be comme il faut, go abroad to France, to 
Paris; I’ll pay for the journey, and you make all 
the arrangements. I might go with her, it’s true, 
settle abroad, and not stop in this wretched little 
hole any longer; but then, you see, there’s the fish! 
I want to make something out of this place ; they’re 
all asleep here; nobody thinks of anything, no- 
io6 


The Fisher Maiden 


body speculates! Ah! the fish, the fish! Nobody 
here looks after it properly. In Spain and other 
countries they’re always making complaints about 
it. They need new methods of drying and pack- 
ing, everything must be altered; the town must 
wake up, the trade go ahead, and the fish bring in 
millions, millions! Where did I leave off though? 
The fish, the Fisher Girl! Oh, well, they go well 
together: fish, Fisher Girl — ha, ha! Well then, 
as I say, I find the money, you make the arrange- 
ments; she becomes my wife, and then — ” 

He got no further. He had not, while he had 
been talking, taken any notice of Oedegaard, who 
now had risen to his feet, pale as a corpse, and 
fell upon him with a slender Spanish cane in his 
hand. The other’s amazement was beyond de- 
scription. 

‘‘Be careful,” he cried, as he warded off the first 
few strokes ; “you may hit me !” 

“Yes, I may hit you! Spanish merchant, Span- 
ish cane, they go well together — ha, ha!” And the 
blows rained down over his shoulders, arms, hands, 
face, and wherever he could hit him. The other 
dashed about the room wildly. 

“Are you mad?” he yelled; “are you out of 
107 


The Fisher Maiden 

your senses? I want to marry her, do you hear? 
To marry her, I say!” 

‘^Gol” roared Oedegaard, whose strength was 
now exhausted. And away dashed his fair-haired 
visitor, through the door and down the stairs, just 
stopping for a moment in the street to call out for 
his hat. It was thrown down to him through the 
window, and then all was peace once more. 

^‘Come in!” said Petra that evening, in answer 
to the soft knock, as she herself drew back a pace 
or two the better to look at her love as he entered. 
Like a stream of ice-cold water dashed over her, 
like the solid earth rent beneath her feet, was the 
sight of that face that appeared in the doorway! 
She staggered backward and grasped at the bed- 
post, but in thought she fell from the top of a 
precipice to the bottom. In less than a second, she 
who was but now the happiest of brides had fallen 
to be the worst of sinners. His face proclaimed it, 
as if with a voice of thunder — not through all time 
and eternity could he ever forgive her. 

“I see it,” he whispered in a scarcely audible 
tone, “I see it; you are guilty!” 

He leaned against the door-post and caught hold 
io8 


The Fisher Maiden 


of the handle, as if he could not stand without it. 
His voice shook, and tears were rolling down his 
cheeks, but save for that he was calm. 

‘^Do you know what you have done?” he said; 
and his eyes seemed to pierce her to the earth. She 
made no answer; she did not even weep; she was 
stricken by utter, hopeless powerlessness. ‘‘Once 
before I gave my soul away,” he went on, “and he 
to whom I gave it was killed by my fault. I could 
not recover from that sorrow, unless some one 
should be allowed to reach out and give me back 
my soul, healed once more. That you have done 
— and done it by treachery.” 

He paused, and vainly made two attempts to go 
on again ; and then, with a sudden rush of feeling, 
he cried: 

“And could you go and cast aside, as if it were 
a thing of clay, all that I have been building, 
thought upon thought, day after day, in these long 
years! Child, child, could you not see that I was 
building my life up in yours? Well — all that’s 
over now!” And he made another effort to con- 
trol his agony. 

“No,” he began again; “you’re too young to 
understand; you don’t know what you’ve done. 

109 


The Fisher Maiden 


But that youVe deceived me, that you must know. 
Tell me, what have I done to you that you could 
be so cruel to me? Child, child, if you had only 
told me, even yesterday! Why, why have you de- 
ceived me so terribly?” 

She heard what he said, and it was all true. He 
had staggered to a chair that stood by the window, 
and was leaning his head on the table beside it. 
He rose up, half sobbing with pain, then sat down 
again motionless. 

“And I — and I who am not fit to help my old 
father,” he moaned to himself; “I can not, I do not, 
feel the call for that work. Therefore no one may 
help me, and all my life must be a wreck.” 

He could say no more. His head sank upon his 
right hand, his left hung limp beside him; he 
looked as if he were not able to move; and thus 
he sat there, saying no word. Then he felt some- 
thing warm against his hand, as it hung down ; he 
gave a sudden start — it was Petra’s breath. She 
was there on her knees beside him, her head bowed 
and her hands folded, looking at him in speechless 
prayer for mercy. He looked down at her in turn, 
and the eyes of neither moved. Then he raised his 
hands as if to keep her off; as if, as she looked 


no 


The Fisher Maiden 


at him, he heard a persuasive voice in his heart to 
which he must not listen. Quickly, hastily, he bent 
down to pick up his hat, which had fallen on the 
ground, and hurried to the door. But quicker 
even than he, she cast herself down in the way, 
clasped his knees with her hands, and fixed her 
eyes on his, not saying a word the while; but as he 
stood there, he felt she was struggling for life. 
Then his old love overmastered him; once more he 
looked at her with eyes full of love and of agony, 
and clasped her head with both his hands. But 
there was a sighing and moaning in his heart as 
when an organ has just ceased to play: there is air 
still within, but no melody. He withdrew his 
hands, and in such a way that she could not help 
feeling what was in his mind. Alas ! it was only too 
evident. 

“No, no!” he cried; “you can enjoy emotion, but 
you can not love!” He was overcome for a mo- 
ment, and then went on: “Unhappy child, I may 
no longer watch over your future. God forgive 
you for having made mine desolate!” 

He went past her, but she did not stir: he opened 
the door and shut it after him, she did not speak. 
She heard him on the stairs, she heard his last foot- 


irii! 


The Fisher Maiden 


step on the flagstones and down in the street; then 
she uttered one cry, one single cry, and her 
senses left her. However, at her cry her mother 
hastened up. 

When Petra came to herself again she was lying 
in her bed, undressed and comfortably tucked in, 
and her mother sitting opposite her, with her head 
in both hands, and her fiery eyes fixed on her 
daughter. 

“Have you finished your reading with him 
now?” she asked. “Have you now learned some- 
thing, eh? And what is it that’s to become of 
you now?” 

The other’s only answer was to burst out weep- 
ing. Long, long sat the mother there listening to 
her sobs, and then, with her own terrible earnest- 
ness, came the words: “Lord God, curse him body 
and soul!” 

Up started Petra wildly. “Mother, mother!” 
she cried, “not him, not him, but me, me!” 

“Oh, I know these men! I know what it is!” 

“Oh, mother, he has been deceived, and by me ; 
it is I who deceived him!” 

She quickly told her mother everything, sobbing 
bitterly the whole time; she would not have him 

II2 


The Fisher Maiden 

suspected, even for a moment. She told her all 
about Gunnar, and what she had asked of him, not 
rightly knowing what she was doing; and then of 
Yngve Void’s luckless gold chain, and how it had 
entangled her; and then of Oedegaard, and of how 
everything else went out of her mind when she saw 
him. She did not know how it had all come about, 
but she felt she had done great wrong to all of 
them, especially to him who had taken her and 
given her all that one mortal can give another. 

The mother sat in silence for a long time, and 
then she said: 

“And have you done me no wrong? Where was 
1 all this time, that you never told me a word 
about it?” 

“Oh, mother, mother, help me ! Don’t be hard 
on me; I feel that I shall have to suffer for this as 
long as I live, so I will pray to God to let me die 
soon! Dear, good God,” she began straightway, 
and she folded her hands toward Him — “Dear, 
good God, listen to my prayer. I have utterly 
ruined my life; there is nothing more for me now. 
I am not fit to live; I don’t understand life; let me 
die, then, oh dear God!” 

There was such a passionate intensity in her 

113 


The Fisher Maiden 

prayer that Gunlaug, who had harsh words ready 
for her, swallowed them down, and laid her hand 
on her daughter’s arm to stop her from praying 
thus. 

“Control yourself, child; don’t tempt the Lord. 
You must live, even though life’s bitter.” 

She got up, and never set foot in Petra’s attic 
again. 

Oedegaard had fallen sick, and was in a perilous 
state. His old father moved upstairs to him, and 
made his workroom by his side ; to all who begged 
him to spare himself he made answer that it was 
his work to watch over his son whenever that son 
lost any of those whom he loved more dearly than 
his father. 

Such being the state of things, Gunnar suddenly 
came home! 

He almost frightened his mother’s life out of her 
by appearing so long before the return of the ship 
he went out with ; she thought it was his double, 
and his acquaintances were not much wiser than 
she. To all their wondering questions he returned 
no reasonable answer; but the matter soon became 
clearer to them, for the very day he came back he 
was driven out of Gunlaug’s inn, and that by Gun- 

:II4 


The Fisher Maiden 


laug herself. From the steps she cried out to him, 
in a voice that echoed down Hollow Street: 

‘‘Don’t you come here again; we’ve had quite 
enough of your sort!” 

Before he had gone far, a girl came after him 
with a packet. The girl had another one besides; 
she gave him the wrong one, and Gunnar found 
in it a massive gold chain. He stood weighing it 
in his hands and staring at it. To begin with, he 
had not understood the reason of Gunlaug’s mad 
wrath, but still less did he see why she should have 
sent him a gold chain. He shouted to the girl to 
come back. She must have made a mistake, she 
said, and she gave him the other packet, asking if 
that was his. It turned out to contain his presents 
to Petra. Yes, that was his, right enough; but 
whom was the gold chain for? That was for Void, 
the girl answered, and went her way. Gunnar 
stood still, and gave himself up to thought. “Void 1 
does he give her presents? It must be he, then, 
who has stolen her from me— Yngve Void! Oh, 
it’s you, is it? Very well, then — ” His excitement 
and anger needed some vent; he must have some- 
thing to knock to pieces. “Very well, then, Yngve 
Void!” 

115 


The Fisher Maiden 


For the second time that day the luckless mer- 
chant was attacked unawares, and this time on his 
own doorstep. He tore away from the enemy into 
his office, with Gunnar after him. All the clerks 
fell upon the riotous intruder, who lashed out in all 
directions. Chairs, desks, and tables were over- 
turned; letters, dockets, and invoices flew about 
like smoke. At length auxiliaries came from 
Yngve’s wharf, and, after a mighty struggle, Gun- 
nar was thrown out into the street. 

But now the thing began to grow really serious. 
There happened to be two ships lying at the quay 
— one a foreigner, the other a Norseman; and as it 
was just dinner-time the sailors were all free to 
join in the fun. They joined battle at once, crew 
against crew, foreigners against natives; other 
crews were sent for, and came dashing up at full 
speed ; the laborers, the old women, and the boys 
lent their aid, and at last there was nobody who 
knew either why or with whom he was fighting. 
It was no good for the skippers to come and swear 
at the men ; it was no good for the respectable citi- 
zens to give their orders for the town’s only police- 
man to be fetched — he happened to be out on the 
fjord, fishing. They ran to the mayor, who was 

ii6 


The Fisher Maiden 


also postmaster, but he was shut up with the post- 
bag that had just arrived, and answered through 
the window that he could not come; his post-clerk 
was at a funeral, so they must wait. But as they 
would not stop murdering one another till the let- 
ters were sorted, many people — especially old 
women — shouted out that Arne, the smith, ought to 
be fetched. This met with the respectable citizens’ 
approval, and Arne’s wife went to get him; “for 
the policeman was not at home,” she said. 

He came, much to the joy of the schoolboys. 
Striking a few blows among the crowd, he got hold 
of one rash Spaniard, and used him as a club to 
belabor the others with at random. 

When all was over, the mayor came along with 
his walking-stick. He found some old women and 
children talking together on the field of battle. He 
bade them, with severity, go home to their dinners, 
and straightway did the same himself. 

But the day after he held an inquiry, which occu- 
pied some time, as no one seemed to have the least 
idea as to who had been engaged in the fight; only 
all were agreed that Arne, the smith, had been in 
the thick of it, for they had seen him striking others 
with a Spaniard. For this Arne had to pay a fine 
117 


The Fisher Maiden 


of a daler, and his wife, who had led him into it, 
got a beating from him on the eleventh Sunday 
after Trinity, as she had good cause to remember. 
These were the only judicial results of the fray. 
But other results there were. The little town was 
no longer a quiet little town: the Fisher Girl had 
turned it topsy-turvy. The strangest stories were 
about, arising from a feeling of jealous anger 
against her for having been able to attract to her 
the cleverest man in the town and the two richest 
bachelors, to say nothing of “several” besides; for 
Gunnar gradually grew to be “several young men.” 

Soon there was a universal storm of moral in- 
dignation. The disgrace of being the cause of a 
great street riot, and of having brought sorrow 
into three of the best families of the town, hung 
over the head of a young girl who had only been 
confirmed some six months before: three sweet- 
hearts at a time, and one of them her teacher, her 
benefactor! Nay, indignation at this could not 
be held in. Had she not been the plague of the 
town even in her childhood? had they not, despite 
that, shown her by their gifts what they hoped of 
her, when Oedegaard took her up? And had she 
not now put them all to shame, crushed Oede- 

ii8 


The Fisher Maiden 


gaard’s life, and, following the bent of her nature, 
thrown herself, without restraint, into courses that 
must make her an outcast from society, and bring 
her, in old age, to the House of Correction? Her 
mother must have been her accomplice, and the 
child must have learned her wicked ways in the 
Seaman’s Inn. The yoke that Gunlaug had laid 
upon the town must no longer be tolerated; neither 
she nor her daughter could be suffered to remain 
any longer among them. Let every one unite to 
drive them away! 

That evening a crowd, made up of seamen who 
owed Gunlaug money; of tippling workmen, for 
whom she would not get work; and of youths, to 
whom she refused to give credit, mingled with 
some people of the better sort, assembled on the 
hill. They whistled, they hooted ; they yelled out 
for the “Fisher Girl” and for “Fish-Gunlaug.” 
Presently a stone was hurled at the door, and then 
another through the attic window. Not till mid- 
night did the noise die away. Behind the windows 
all had remained dark and noiseless. 

Next day not a single person came to the inn, 
not so much as a child went by the house on the 
hill. But in the evening there was the same riotous 
119 


The Fisher Maiden 

mob as before, save that now all joined in, without 
distinction. The flowers were trampled down, the 
windows all broken in, the garden hedge torn up, 
and the young fruit trees rooted out. Then the 
crowd began to sing : 

‘ ‘Mother, I’ve hooked a sailor fine.’ 

‘Well done, my lass !’ 

‘Mother, I’ve made a merchant mine.’ 

‘Well done, my lass !’ 

‘Mother, a parson’s on my line.’ 

‘Then pull in, my lass ! 

. Men come and go. 

And we older grow ; 

And what’s the good if the big fish bite 

When you can’t pull ’em into your boat so tight ?’ 

“ ‘Mother, he’s gone, that sailor fine.’ 

‘Has he, my lass ?' 

‘Mother, he’s gone, that merchant mine.’ 

‘Has he, my lass ?’ 

‘And the parson’ll soon be off my line.’ 

‘Then pull in, my lass! 

For men come and go, 

And we older grow ; 


120 


The Fisher Maiden 


And what’s the good if the big fish bite 

When you can’t pull ’em into your boat so tight?’ 

Then the crowd began to yell loudly for Gun- 
laug, for they wanted to hear her burst forth in 
her matchless wrath. 

But Gunlaug, though she heard every word, sat 
silent within the house, because, for one’s child’s 
sake, a woman must be able to bear much. 


VoL, 6 


121 


(B)-F 


The Fisher Maiden 


CHAPTER VI 

FLIGHT 

Petra was in her room on the first evening when 
the whistling, shouting, and hooting began. She 
sprang up, as if the house were on fire around her, 
or were falling to pieces above her head; she 
dashed about her room as if beaten by burning 
rods. There was a singing and burning in her 
breast; her thoughts were straining for an outlet, 
but down to her mother she dared not go, and be- 
fore her only window stood the mob! A stone 
came flying through it, and fell on her bed; she 
gave a scream, and flew into one corner and hid 
behind a curtain among her old clothes. There 
she sat, crouched up, burning with shame, trem- 
bling with fear. Visions of unknown terrors 
floated in upon her. The air was filled with faces, 
gaping, grinning faces, that came close up to her 
own, while all around rained fire. Oho! it was not 
fire, but eyes! It was raining, pouring down eyes 


122 


The Fisher Maiden 

— great glowing eyes, small twinkling eyes, eyes 
that stood stillj eyes that ran to and fro. “O Lord 
Jesus, help, help!” cried Petra in her agonized 
fright. 

Ah! what a relief it was when the last shout died 
away in the night, and all was black and still once 
more. She stole forth and threw herself on her 
bed, hiding her face in the pillows; but she could 
not hide herself from her thoughts. First and fore- 
most in them stood the figure of her mother, mighty 
and threatening as the thunder-clouds that gather 
round the mountains. Ah! what must not her 
mother be suffering for her sake! To her eyes fell 
not a wink of sleep, on her soul no peace ; and day 
came, and brought no balm. She got up and 
walked to and fro, round and round, her only 
thought how she could make her escape; but she 
dared not meet her mother, and she dared not go 
out so long as it was daylight, and with the evening 
they would come again! But wait she must; for 
before midnight it was still more perilous to at- 
tempt to fly. And where was she to fly to? She 
had no money; she knew of no place to go to; but 
surely, she thought, there must be merciful, kindly 
folk somewhere, just as there was a merciful, kind 
123 


The Fisher Maiden 


God. He knew that however much she might have 
erred, it was not deliberately; He knew her re- 
morse, and He too knew her helplessness. She 
listened for her mother’s movements down below, 
but she heard none; she trembled at the thought 
of hearing her footstep on the stairs, but she did 
not come. The girl who came to work there had 
doubtless fled, for no one brought Petra anything 
to eat. The broken window-pane let the cold air in 
in the morning, and now that evening was coming 
on it was still worse. She had made up a small 
bundle of her clothes and dressed herself com- 
pletely, so as to be ready. But she must wait for 
the raging mob again, and bear whatever they 
might do. 

There they were again! Whistling, hooting, 
throwing stones — worse, far worse, than last night! 
She crept into her corner, folded her hands, and 
never ceased to pray. If only her mother would 
not go out to them! If only they would not break 
in ! Then they began to sing a coarse libelous ditty, 
and though every word cut her like a knife, yet she 
must sit and listen to it; but when she heard her 
mother’s name mixed up with it, and knew that 
they had had the shameful injustice to make out 
124 


The Fisher Maiden 


Gunlaug as guilty as herself, she sprang up and 
dashed forward, determined to speak to the cow- 
ardly crew or throw herself down among them — 
but a stone, and then another, and then a whole 
storm of stones flew through the windows, splinters 
of the broken glass whizzed about, and stones kept 
whirling round the room. She crept back again 
to her refuge. She was perspiring, as if the hot- 
test rays of the sun were upon her, but she no longer 
wept, and her fear had left her. 

Little by little the noise began to ebb ; she ven- 
tured forth, and, as soon as nothing was to be heard, 
tried to get to the window; but she kept treading 
on crackling splinters of glass: she stepped back 
again, walking softly on the stones so as not to be 
heard ; for now was the time for her to creep away. 
After waiting for more than half an hour, she took 
off her shoes, picked up her bundle, and softly 
opened the door. She waited another five minutes, 
and then walked gingerly downstairs. It pained 
her deeply to have to leave her mother without 
farewell, after all the trouble she had brought upon 
her; but fear urged her on. ‘‘Good-by, dear 
mother! Good-by, dear mother!’’ she whispered 
to herself as she went down each step. “Good-by, 

.T2S 


The Fisher Maiden 


mother dear!” And now she stood on the last 
step, and drew several long breaths, and then was 
at the door. 

Just then her arm was grasped from behind; she 
gave a faint scream, turned, and was face to face 
with her mother! Gunlaug, who had heard the 
door open, knew at once what Petra meant to do, 
and stood waiting for her. Petra felt that she 
would not get by without a struggle. Explanation 
would be of no avail ; whatever she might say, she 
would not be believed. Well, let there be a strug- 
gle, then! nothing in the world could be worse than 
the worst, and this she had lived through. 

‘‘Where are you going?” asked the mother in a 
low tone. 

In equally low tones, but with a beating heart, 
answered Petra : 

“I must go.” 

“Where will you go to?” 

“That I don’t know — but I must get away from 
^hereT 

She grasped her bundle tight and began to move 
again. But her mother held her arm, and said: 

“Come, follow me — I have foreseen this.” 

Straightway Petra gave herself up, as one might 
126 


The Fisher Maiden 


give up a burden far too heavy for one’s strength; 
she drew long breaths, as if after a tough struggle, 
and yielded to her mother. The latter went into 
a little closet at the back of the kitchen, where 
there was no window, but in which a candle was 
burning; it was here she had sat in hiding, during 
the tumult without. The closet was so small, there 
was scarce room to move in it; the mother drew 
forth a bundle somewhat smaller than Petra’s, 
opened it, and took out a seaman’s dress. 

^‘Put these on,” she whispered. 

Petra saw at once why she was to do so, but it 
touched her that her mother said never a word 
about it. She undressed, and put the other things 
on, her mother helping her, and as she did so, and 
the light fell upon her, Petra looked at her face, 
and saw for the first time that Gunlaug was old. 
Had she become so during these last two days, or 
had Petra never noticed it before? The child’s 
tears rolled down upon the mother, but Gunlaug 
never looked up at her, so that Petra spoke no 
word. A sou’wester was the last thing she had to 
put on ; and when that was done the mother took 
her bundle from her, blew out the light, and whis- 
pered: 


127 


The Fisher Maiden 


^‘Now come.” 

They went out into the passage, but not through 
the street door: Gunlaug opened the gate into the 
yard, and locked it again. They walked through 
the trampled garden, over uprooted trees, and past 
the broken hedge. 

‘‘You’d best look round you well now,” said the 
mother; “you’ll never come here again.” 

The other shuddered, but did not look round. 
They took the upper road, along the wood in 
which she had spent half her life — ^where she had 
been that evening with Gunnar, that evening with 
Yngve Void, and that last one with Oedegaard. 
They were walking through the withered leaves 
that had now begun to fall. The night was icy 
cold, and Petra shivered in her unwonted clothes. 
The mother turned aside toward a garden, and 
Petra recognized it at once, though she had never 
been on that side of it since the day when, as a 
child, she had led the attack on it — for it was Pe- 
dro Ohlsen’s orchard. The mother had a key, 
and opened the gate. 

It had cost Gunlaug much to go to him that 
morning, and it cost her much more to come to 
him now with the luckless daughter whom she 
128 


The Fisher Maiden 


could no longer shelter. She rapped at the gar- 
den door, and almost at once steps were heard and 
a light was seen. A moment after the door was 
opened by Pedro^ who stood inside, pale and 
scared, dressed in traveling clothes, and wearing 
traveling boots. He held a tallow candle in his 
hand, and he sighed as his eyes fell on Petra’s 
face, all swollen with weeping. She looked up at 
him; but as he did not dare to recognize her, she 
did not venture to recognize him. 

“This man has promised to help you to get 
away,” said the mother, without looking at either 
of them, as she went a few steps up the passage, 
and the others followed her into Pedro’s room on 
the opposite side. The room was small and low ; 
the close, confined air smote upon them as they 
came in, and made Petra feel sick, as for more than 
a day and night she had neither slept nor eaten. 
In the middle of the room there hung a cage with 
a canary in it, and they had to go round it to avoid 
striking it. The heavy old chairs and the solid 
table, the two great countrified presses which al- 
most touched the ceiling, dwarfed everything else, 
and seemed to make the room even more confined 
than it was. On the table lay music and a flute. 

129 


The Fisher Maiden 


Pedro Ohlsen slouched about in his great boots as 
if he were busily doing something. A faint voice 
from the room behind was heard, saying: “Who 
is that? Who is in there?” which caused him to 
shuffle about still quicker, as he mumbled out: 
“Oh, it’s — er, er, it’s — er, er — and finally went 
off to where the voice came from. 

Gunlaug sat by the window with both elbows on 
her knees and her head on her hands. She looked 
fixedly down at the sand, with which the floor was 
strewn, but she said not a word, only at intervals 
she heaved deep sighs. 

Petra stood by the door, her legs knocking to- 
gether, and her hands pressed against her breast, 
for she was beginning to feel sick. An old-fash- 
ioned clock was ticking out the seconds; the tal- 
low candle stood on the table with a long, gutter- 
ing wick. Presently the mother tried to give a 
reason for their presence there. 

“I used to know that man once,” she said. 

Not many words, and no answer. Pedro kept 
away. The light guttered melancholically, and the 
clock kept up its ticking. Petra was feeling more 
and more sick, and through it all her mother’s “I 
used to know that man once,” kept whistling in 
130 


The Fisher Maiden 


her ears. The clock took it up, and began to tick 
out, “I — used — to — know — that — man — once.” 
Whenever, in her subsequent life, Petra encoun- 
tered close, faint air, that room straightway stood 
before her with the memories of her sickness and 
the clock’s — used — to — know — that — man — 
once.” Whenever she went on a steamer, the 
smell of the oil, the bilge-water under the cabin, 
or the vapor of cooking meat, always made her 
feel seasick at once, and constantly through her 
sickness that room stood day and night before her 
eyes, and in her ears was the sound of the clock 
ticking out its “I — used — to — know — that — man 
— once.” 

When Pedro came in again he had put on a 
woolen cap and a clumsy, old-fashioned coat, 
which went up to his ears. 

am ready,” he said, and began to pull on his 
thick mittens, as if he were going out in the depths 
of winter. “But we mustn’t forget” — he turned 
round — “the cloak for — for — ” 

And he looked at Petra, and from her to Gun- 
laug, who now took up a blue cloak which was 
hanging over the back of a chair, and helped Pe- 
tra to put it on ; but when she had the full odor of 


The Fisher Maiden 

the place thus immediately beneath her nose, it 
was so overpowering that she begged for fresh air. 
Gunlaug saw she was not well, opened the door, 
and quickly led her out into the garden. Petra 
drank in long, full drafts of the fresh autumnal 
air in the cool night. 

“Where am I going?” she asked, when she had 
begun to feel a little better. 

“To Bergen,” answered the mother, helping 
her to fasten her cloak; “it is a big town, where 
nobody knows you.” 

When she had finished she took her stand by the 
garden gate, and said: 

“You will have a hundred daler to take with 
you; so that if you don’t get on you’ll then have 
something to fall back upon. This man here is 
going to lend it you.” 

“Give — give it!” whispered Pedro, as he passed 
them and went out into the road. 

“Lend it you,” repeated the mother, as if he 
had not spoken. “I shall pay him back again.” 

She took a handkerchief from her neck, tied it 
round Petra’s, and said: 

“You are to write to me as soon as you’re getting 
on all right, but not before.” 

132 


The Fisher Maiden 

‘^Motherr’ 

“And this man will row you on board the ship 
that lies out there in the fjord.” 

“Oh, mother! Good God! Dear mother — ” 

“And now there’s nothing more to say. I shall 
go with you no further.” 

“Mother ! Mother !” 

“God be with you. Farewell!” 

“Mother, dear mother, forgive me!” 

“And don’t catch cold on the water.” 

She had gently pushed Petra outside the garden 
gate, and now she shut it from within. 

Petra stood without the closed gate, and felt 
about as desolate and lonely as it is possible for 
mortal to feel ; but just then, from out of the midst 
of her tears, her woes, and her feeling of exile, 
there sprung up within her, as if by inspiration, a 
sudden confidence. Like a tongue of fire that has 
been kindled and then quenched, it blazed high 
into the air and sunk down again, extinguished 
indeed, but, for one moment, gloriously bright. 
She opened her eyes, and stood once more in thick 
darkness. 

In silence, through the deserted streets of the 
little town, by the close-shut, leafless gardens, past 

133 


The Fisher Maiden 


the houses, locked and lightless, she slowly fol- 
lowed the slouching form in the great boots and 
the long cloak that left him no head. They came 
out upon the avenues, and trod once more through 
the withered leaves, where the sere green branches 
stretched out long spectral arms to seize them. 
They climbed their way down across the hill to 
the yellow boathouse, where their skiff lay, and 
the man at once began busily to bale it. He rowed 
her out from the land, which now lay a black mass 
beneath the heavy skies. Fields, houses, forests, 
mountains, were all blotted out: nothing more 
could she now see of the things which till yesterday 
she had seen every day of her life. Like the town, 
like mankind, they had locked themselves into the 
darkness of night; and she was cast out, and no 
voice bade her farewell. 

A man was pacing up and down on the deck of 
the ship, as it lay at anchor waiting for the morn- 
ing wind; as soon as he saw them under the ship’s 
side, he lowered a rope-ladder, helped them on 
board, and told the captain of their arrival, who 
immediately came up on deck. She knew him, 
and he her; but without a question, or a word of 
sympathy, he told her, as if her being there was 
134 


The Fisher Maiden 

a matter of course, all that she needed to know— 
namely, where her berth was, and what she was to 
do if she wanted anything or felt sick. The latter 
she did almost as soon as she went down, and so 
directly she had changed her clothes she came up 
on deck again, where a fragrant odor met her. It 
was the smell of chocolate, and straightway a 
mighty feeling of hunger fell upon her, and 
seemed to tear and rend her breast; and just then 
up came the same man who had received them on 
board with a bowl full of it and a lot of cakes 
from the cook-room; her mother had sent them, 
he said; and while she was eating, he went on to 
tell her that she had also sent on board a chest with 
her best clothes, her linen and woolen garments, 
as well as food and other useful things. 

A vivid image of her mother came into her mind 
at that moment — a magnificent figure, such as she 
had never pictured her before, but never ceased to 
do all the rest of her life. And with it she made 
a vow, with confident yet humble prayer, that some 
time she would be able to give her mother some 
great joy in return for the sorrow that she caused 
her now. 

Pedro Ohlsen sat beside her when she sat, and 

135 


The Fisher Maiden 


walked by her when she walked, trying hard not 
to be in her way, and consequently being always in 
the way on the deck, crowded as it was with goods. 
Of his face she could see nothing but the great 
nose and the eyes, nor could she see these distinctly; 
yet he gave her the impression of being burdened 
with something he wanted to say, but could not. 
He sighed, sat down, got up, walked about round 
her, sat down again; but no word came from his 
lips, and she did not speak. 

At length he felt he must give it up. He drew 
drearily out of his pocket a huge leather pocket- 
book, and whispered that the hundred daler were 
in it, and a little more besides. She gave him her 
hand as she thanked him, and as she did so, his 
face was so near her that she could see his eyes 
dwelling upon her with a tearful glance, for with 
her the last remnant of life that had preserved his 
decaying existence was leaving him. What he 
wanted was to say something to her which should 
make her think lovingly of him when he, before 
long, should be no more ; but he had been forbid- 
den to do so ; and though, in spite of that, he would 
have done it, yet he could not manage it, for she 
gave him no help! 


13^ 


The Fisher Maiden 

The truth was, Petra was exceedingly tired, and 
the recollection that he had been the cause of her 
first sin against her mother would not leave her. 
She could not bear to have him with her, and the 
longer he sat there the worse it grew, for when one 
is tired, one is apt to be peevish. The poor wretch 
felt this. It was time for him to be going, he said, 
and drew his withered hand out from beneath his 
mittens, and bade her a whispered good-by. She 
laid her warm hand in his, and both got up. 

‘^Thanks,’’ she said, ‘^and accept my farewell 
greeting.” 

He gave a sigh, or rather a groan, then another 
one or two, let go her hand, turned, and walked 
backward, and in silence, down the ship’s ladder. 
She went to the bulwarks; he looked up, waved a 
farewell to her, took his seat in the boat, and rowed 
slowly off. She stood there till he was a black 
spot in the blackness around. Then she went be- 
low, for she could scarcely stand, so tired was she; 
and though she felt sick the moment she came 
down, she had scarcely laid her head on the pil- 
low, and said the first two or three lines of the 
Lord’s Prayer, before she was asleep. 

Meanwhile her mother sat by the yellow boat- 
137 


The Fisher Maiden 

house: she had slowly followed them the whole 
way, and sat there by the boathouse while they 
were putting off from the land. From the same 
spot, in days gone by, Pedro Ohlsen had put off 
with her from the land. That was long, long ago; 
but it must perforce come into her mind now, when 
he was rowing her daughter away. 

As soon as she saw him coming back alone, she 
got up and went; for she knew by that that her 
daughter was safe on board. She did not take the 
road homeward, but, finding in the darkness the 
path that led over the mountains, made her way 
along it. Her house in the town stood ruined and 
desolate for more than a month; she did not mean 
to go back till she had received good news from 
her daughter. 

Meanwhile, the feeling against her was put to 
the proof. Meaner natures ever feel a secret joy 
in banding together to persecute a stronger one, 
but that only so long as the latter is able to make 
resistance; when they see that the other quietly 
puts up with ill-treatment, a feeling of shame 
comes upon them, and they hiss at any one who 
now would cast a stone. The mob had rejoiced in 
the thought of hearing Gunlaug’s mighty voice 
138 


The Fisher Maiden 


echoing down Hollow Street; they had in imagi- 
nation seen her calling on the seamen for help, and 
stirring up a street row. 

As she refused to show herself, the people were 
wellnigh uncontrollable on the third night. They 
would break in after her; they would pitch the 
two women into the street; they would drive them, 
hunt them, out of the town. The windows had not 
been mended since the night before, and it was 
amid tremendous cheering that two men climbed 
through them to open the door. And then — in 
stormed the whole crew! 

They looked into every room, upstairs and 
downstairs; they burst the doors open; they broke 
into atoms all that stood in their way; they searched 
every corner, not excluding the cellar, but neither 
mother, nor daughter, nor any living thing could 
they find. 

A sudden silence fell upon them all the moment 
the real state of things was made plain ; those inside 
the house came out, one by one, and drew back be- 
hind the others. Presently the house was empty. 

Before long, there were some in the town who 
said that it was a shameful thing to have acted 
thus toward two defenseless women. 


139 


The Fisher Maiden 

They went on discussing the matter, until at last 
all were agreed that whatever wrong the Fisher 
Girl might have done, it was certainly not Gun- 
laug’s fault, and therefore she had been very un- 
justly treated. She was sorely missed in the town. 
Quarrels and disturbances arising from drink be- 
gan to be the order of the day, for the town had 
lost its police. Folks missed her commanding 
figure in her doorway as they went by; and more 
than any one else did the sailors miss her. No 
place was as hers had been, they said, for with 
her every man was treated according to his merits, 
and had his place in her confidence and her help 
whatever happened. Neither seamen nor skip- 
pers, neither employers nor housewives, had 
understood her real value till now that she had 
disappeared. 

Therefore, a unanimous feeling of gladness ran 
through the town when it was said that some 
one had seen her in her dwelling, cooking and 
roasting as usual. Every one felt he must go and 
make certain for himself that the window-panes 
were replaced, the door mended, and the smoke 
curling put of the chimney. 

Yes, it was all true; there she was again I They 
140 


The Fisher Maiden 


crept up on the other side of Hollow Street to get 
a better view of her; she was sitting in front of the 
oven, and looking neither up nor down as her eye 
followed her hand, and her hand was busily work- 
ing, for she had come back to earn again what she 
had lost, and first and foremost the hundred daler 
that she owed to Pedro Ohlsen. 

At first people were content with looking in on 
her — their evil conscience kept them from entering 
the house; but by degrees they began to come in. 
First came the housewives, the kind-hearted, 
friendly creatures; but they got no chance to talk 
anything but business with her, for Gunlaug gave 
no heed to anything else. Then came the fisher- 
men, then shippers and skippers to hire green 
sailors; and, last of all, on the first Sunday after 
her return, came the regular seamen. There must 
have been an agreement among them all to come 
that evening, for all of a sudden the house was so 
packed that not only were both the rooms fully oc- 
cupied, but even the tables and chairs, which stood 
in the garden in summer-time, had to be brought 
in and put in the passage, in the kitchen, and in the 
back parlor. 

No one looking at this assembly would have 
141 


The Fisher Maiden 


guessed with what feelings those people sat there; 
for Gunlaug had resumed her silent sway over 
them again the moment they crossed her threshold, 
and the calm dignity with which she waited on 
each one turned aside all questions and all words 
of welcome. She was the same as ever, save that 
her hair was no longer black, and her bearing was 
somewhat quieter. But when the seamen began to 
grow merry they could no longer restrain them- 
selves; and now, each time the servant left the 
room, they called upon Knud, the boatswain, who 
had always been a favorite of hers, to drink her 
health when she came in again. He could not 
pluck up courage for it until he was somewhat 
warmed in the head; and then at last, when she 
came in and was putting together the empty bot- 
tles and glasses, he rose and said: “It is a very 
good thing she is back again. For it is quite 
certain that — it is a very good thing she is back 
again.” 

This seemed to them a very neat speech, so they 
stood up and shouted : “Hear ! Hear I A very good 
thing!” And those in the passage, and those in the 
kitchen, and those in the other room, got up and 
joined in accord; and the boatswain gave her a 
142 


The Fisher Maiden 


glass and shouted “Hurrah!” and then they hur- 
rahed all together, as if they were trying to raise 
the roof to the skies. Presently somebody said that 
they had done her shameful injustice, another took 
his oath they had, and soon they were all declaring 
and swearing that they had done her most shame- 
ful injustice. 

When at last there was quiet again, as they 
wanted a word from Gunlaug, she said that she 
thanked them very much. “But,” she added, as 
she went on gathering the empty glasses and bottles 
into a pile, “so long as I say nothing about it, you 
don’t need to either.” She went out with as large 
a pile of glasses as she could carry, and came back 
again for the others. And ever after that evening 
her power was absolute. 


143 


The Fisher Maiden 


CHAPTER VII 

THE GREATEST CALLING ON EARTH 

In the evening and in darkness the ship cast 
anchor in Bergen Harbor. Half dazed with sea- 
sickness, Petra was taken in the captain’s boat 
through a number of ships, great and small ; then 
through the crowd of ferrymen on the quays; then 
through the shoal of peasants and street-boys in the 
narrow streets through which their way ran. They 
stopped before a pretty little house, where an old 
woman, at the captain’s introduction, gave Petra 
a kindly welcome. She needed food and sleep, and 
both her cravings were soon satisfied. Fresh and 
bright did she feel when she awoke at noon, next 
day, to new sounds and new voices around her, and 
— when the curtain was drawn aside — to new scen- 
ery, new people, and a new town. She was herself 
a new person, it seemed to her, as she stopped be- 
fore the glass; her face was not as of old. She 
could not see what exactly it was that made this 

144 


The Fisher Maiden 

difference, for she did not know that at her age 
sorrow and anguish make the face more delicate 
and spiritual; but as she saw herself in the glass, 
she could not keep her thoughts from the past few 
nights, and as she thought of them, she trembled. 
So she made haste to get ready to come downstairs 
to the new world awaiting her there. 

She found her hostess and several other ladies, 
who first looked her up and down from top to toe, 
and then promised to look after her; as a begin- 
ning they proposed showing her round the town. 
There were several things that she wanted to buy, 
so she ran upstairs for her pocketbook, but not 
caring to bring the great clumsy book down with 
her, she opened it in her room and took out the 
money. She found not a hundred daler, but three 
hundred! So Pedro Ohlsen had given her money 
again without her mother’s knowledge or consent! 
So little did she know the value of it that the great- 
ness of the sum did not surprise her; therefore it 
never occurred to her to guess at the possible rea- 
sons for such great liberality. Instead of a letter 
brimming with gratitude, with perhaps a question 
or two of surmise, Pedro Ohlsen got a letter from 
Gunlaug that her daughter had written her, in 
145 


VoL. 6 


(B)-G 


The Fisher Maiden 


which, with scarce concealed anger against him, 
she betrayed her benefactor and asked what she 
was to do with the money he had smuggled in. 

The first thing that struck upon Petra’s senses in 
the town was its scenery. She could not get rid of 
the feeling that the mountain was hanging close 
above her head, and that she must be careful how 
she went. Each time she raised her eyes, she felt 
a sense of oppression, coupled with an inclination 
to stretch out her hands and knock on it to get free. 
At times, too, it seemed that there was no outlet 
for her. Sun-forsaken and murky stood the moun- 
tain; the clouds hung close about it and whirled 
around its head; wind and rain strove below in 
constant alternation: they came from the moun- 
tain, the mountain set them free and poured them 
out over the town. But over the throng of people 
around her was no such feeling of oppression ; she 
grew cheerful among them at once, for in their 
activity there lay a light-hearted, merry freedom, 
such as she had never known, and which seemed to 
her, after what she had lately gone through, like 
a welcoming smile. Next day at dinner she said 
that she would like to go where there were plenty 
of people, and was told that she had better go to 
146 


The Fisher Maiden 

the theatre then, for there she would see many 
hundreds under one roof. Yes, she would like it, 
she said ; and a ticket was got for her to the theatre 
close at hand. She was taken there, and her place 
pointed out to her in the first row of the balcony. 
She sat among many hundred happy faces in a 
great blaze of light, with gay colors sparkling 
around her, and a hum of talk from all quar- 
ters, breaking around her like the noise of the 
billows. 

Petra had not the least idea of what she was 
going to see. All that she knew was what she had 
learned from Oedegaard, or picked up in chance 
talk. Now Oedegaard had never spoken a word 
to her about such things; the seamen had only told 
her of theatres where there were wild beasts and 
riders of bare-backed horses, and the lads she had 
talked with had never said anything about plays, 
even if they had learned something of them at 
school. Her little town had no theatre, nor even a 
building fit for the purpose; traveling circuses, 
rope-dancers, and merry-andrews, either made use 
of a warehouse or the open fields. She was so 
ignorant of it all that she did not even think of 
asking; she sat there in cheerful expectation of 
HZ 


The Fisher Maiden 


some wonderful thing, as, for instance, camels, or 
perhaps monkeys. 

Occupied with thoughts of this, she gradually 
began to see animals in every face around her, 
and it amused her to find in them horses, dogs, 
foxes, cats, mice, and so forth, so that the orchestra 
had got into their places without her noticing it. 
She gave a sudden start when the overture began 
with a short, sharp crash of drums, cymbals, bas- 
soons and horns; never in her life had she heard 
music from more than a couple of fiddles at a time, 
with perhaps a flute. The crashing glory of the 
music made her turn pale, for it seemed to her like 
the roaring of the cold, black sea ; she sat fearing 
that what came next might be more terrible, but 
yet she did not want it to stop. 

Presently gentler harmonies broke upon her, 
and visions flocked in upon her such as she had 
never seen in her dreams of old. Sweet melodies 
were in the air above, gladness and life floating 
around her; all seemed to be moving upward on 
mighty wings, anon gently sinking again; now 
drawing majestically together, now gaily and mer- 
rily breaking apart — when lo! a great darkness fell 
upon all and overwhelmed it, and all was swept 
148 


The Fisher Maiden 


away in a roaring cataract. But then uprose one 
single strain, as of a bird on a bough wet with 
spray, from the depths beneath ; sadly and timidly 
it began, but with its song the air above grew 
clearer, and the sun began to peep forth; and now 
again long blue vistas opened before her, filled 
with wondrous flickering shapes in the sun’s golden 
rays. Lo now! after a while the song was quietly 
dying away: the joyous hosts drew farther and far- 
ther off, and nothing was there save the glow of the 
sun, softening and permeating the air; only the 
sun, with endless space beneath lighted up and 
silent in its rays. And she sat dreaming in radiant 
happiness. 

Involuntarily she rose when the music stopped; 
for her bright visions stopped too! But see! Oh, 
wonder! the beautiful painted wall in front of her 
was going up to the roof ! She was in a church with 
arches and pillars, with the sound of the organ 
thrilling it, a church beautifully adorned, and peo- 
ple were coming toward her in dresses which she 
did not recognize, yes, and talking — yes, talking in 
the church, and in a tongue that she did not under- 
stand. What was that? there were voices behind 
her too. ‘^Sit down!” they were saying, but as 
149 


The Fisher Maiden 


there was nothing to sit on, the two in the church 
naturally remained standing; and the longer she 
looked at them, the clearer it grew to her that their 
garments were like those she had seen in a picture 
of Saint Olaf — and he, he was surely saying Saint 
Olaf’s name! “Sit down!’’ she heard from behind 
again. “Sit down!” many voices were shouting. 
“There must be something behind there as well,” 
thought Petra, and turned quickly round. A sea 
of angry faces, some of them looking threatening, 
met her gaze. “There must be something wrong 
somewhere,” said Petra to herself, and was about 
to go, when an old lady who sat beside her gently 
pulled at her dress and whispered: “But why 
don’t you sit down, my dear? The people behind 
can’t see, you know!” In a moment she was in 
her seat again. “Why, of course, it’s the theatre 
down there, and we’re looking at — of course, the 
theatre!” And she went on repeating the word 
“theatre” as if to keep herself aware of it. 

She looked down into the church again, but she 
could not, in spite of all her pains, understand a 
word the man who was speaking said; but gradu- 
ally, when she had grasped the fact that he was 
a young and handsome man, she took in a word 

150 


The Fisher Maiden 

here and there; and when she found that he was 
in love and talking of love, she began to under- 
stand it all. Then a third person entered, who 
for the moment distracted her attention from him, 
for she saw from his dress that he must be a monk, 
and a monk she had often longed to see. Very 
quietly and gently did the monk walk about; he 
had a truly pious look, and he spoke so plainly 
and deliberately that she could follow every word. 
But all of a sudden he turns aside, and says the 
very opposite of what he has just been saying. 
Good God! he is a villain! Listen to him, he must 
be a villain ; and see how he looks it now! Can not 
that handsome young man see that? In any case, 
can not he hear it? 

^^He is deceiving you!” she cried, beneath her 
breath. 

^‘Hush!” said the old lady. 

No, the young man did not hear it ; he went away 
in dangerous confidence ; and then the others went. 
Now an old man comes in. Why, what is this? 
When the old man speaks it sounds as if the young 
one was speaking, and yet he is an old man. But 
look, look at that! A gleaming host of white-clad 
maidens, silently, and two by two, are slowly walk- 
ijr 


The Fisher Maiden 


ing through the church. They were present to her 
thoughts long after she ceased to see them, and 
there swept before her eyes a sight that came from 
her childhood’s days. She had been taken by her 
mother one winter over the mountain. As they 
walked along in the new-fallen snow they inad- 
vertently startled a brood of ptarmigan, which sud- 
denly filled the air about them; the birds were 
white, the snow was white, the woods were white; 
for a long while all her thoughts were of white 
things, and now for a moment here in the theatre 
it was the same. 

But now one of these white-clad maidens steps 
forth alone with a wreath in her hands, and kneels 
down ; the old man is also on his knees, and she is 
talking with him. He has evidently tidings and 
letters for her from a foreign land. He draws the 
letter out, and it is easy to see that it must be from 
him she loves. Ah, how delightful ! they certainly 
all love one another here. She opens it. Why, it’s 
no letter, for it is full of music. But look, look! 
he himself is the letter. The old man is the young 
one, and is he whom she loves. They embrace one 
another. Dear God, they are kissing! Petra felt 
she was getting fiery-red, and hid her face in her 
1152 


The Fisher Maiden 

hands, but went on listening. Hark! he is telling 
her that they must go and be married at once, and 
she laughingly pulls his beard, and says he’s become 
a barbarian ; and he says she’s grown so beautiful, 
and gives her a ring, and promises her scarlet and 
velvet, golden shoes, and a golden sash; and mer- 
rily he bids her farewell as he goes off to the king 
to tell him of the bridal. His betrothed looks after 
him with a look that lights up everything; and 
when he is gone, and she turns, everything seems 
blank and dull. 

Then suddenly the painted wall comes down 
again. Can it be over already — just as it was be- 
ginning? She turned, with a blush, to the old 
lady: 

^Ts it over?” 

“No, no, child! that was the first act. There are 
five of them; yes, that there are,” she repeated, 
with a sigh, “five of them.” 

“Five of the same?” asked Petra. 

“What do you mean, the same?” 

“Do the same people come in and out, and the 
same things go on?” 

“Why, surely you can never have been at a play 
before, can you?” 


153 


The Fisher Maiden 


“No.” 

“No I Ah, well, it’s true there are many places 
that have no theatre ; it costs so much.” 

“But what is it all?” asked Petra, excitedly, and 
looking at her as if she could not wait her answer. 
“Who are these people?” 

“They are Naso’s company, and a wonderfully 
good company it is; he’s such a clever manager.” 

“And does he make it all up? Or what is it all? 
For Heaven’s sake, do tell me?” 

“My dear child, don’t you really know what a 
play is? Why, where can you have come from?” 

But these last words brought to Petra’s mind the 
memory of her native place, her shame, and her 
flight. She sank into silence, and did not venture 
to ask any more questions. 

The second act came on, and with it the king; 
yes, it was certainly the king. So she had actually 
got to see a king! She did not hear what he was 
saying, nor see to whom he was talking; she was 
too busy observing the king’s clothes, the king’s 
bearing, the king’s gestures. Her thoughts were 
not drawn from this till the young man came in. 
And now they all departed to fetch the bride; so 
she must again wait a while. 

154 


The Fisher Maiden 

Between the acts the old dame leaned over to 
her, and whispered: 

“Don’t you think they’re acting splendidly?” 

“Acting!” said Petra, looking at her in amaze- 
ment, “acting — what is that?” 

She did not notice that all around were looking 
at her, and that the old woman had been egged on 
to ask; she did not hear them laughing at her as 
they sat there. 

“Why don’t they speak as we do?” she asked, 
as the old woman had made her no answer. 

“That’s because they’re Danes,” replied the 
other, and began to laugh anew. 

Then Petra perceived that she was being laughed 
at for her many questions; so she sat silent, and 
looked steadily at the curtain. 

When it rose again she had the great joy of see- 
ing an archbishop, and, as before, grew so absorbed 
in watching him that she did not hear a word of 
what he was saying. Then there was the sound of 
music, faint in the distance, but it was coming 
nearer. There was song from women’s voices, and 
the sound of flutes and violins, and of an instru- 
ment which was not a guitar, yet was like many 
guitars, only softer, fuller, and more mellow. The 

155 


The Fisher Maiden 


harmonies mingled, and broke in long waves, and 
called up flowing visions of colors, and in came the 
procession: soldiers with halberds, choir boys with 
censers, monks with burning tapers, and the king 
with a crown on his head, and at his side the bride- 
groom, clad in white. Then came the white-clad 
girls again, strewing roses, singing songs, before 
the bride, who was clothed in white samite, and 
had a red wreath on her head ; by her side walked 
a tall woman, in a robe of purple, with golden 
crowns worked over it, and a small crown of shin- 
ing gold on her head: that must surely be the 
queen. The whole church was filled with music 
and color, and all that now took place — from the 
bridegroom leading the bride to the altar and 
kneeling before it, while all the rest kneeled round 
them, to the archbishop’s entrance, surrounded by 
his train of priests — ^were merely fresh links in the 
chain of glowing music. 

But just as the wedding ceremony was to begin, 
the archbishop raised his staff on high and forbade 
it; their marriage was forbidden by the laws of 
the Church: never, never in this life might they 
have one another. O God, have mercy! The 
bride fell swooning, and Petra, who had risen to 
156 


The Fisher Maiden 

her feet, likewise fell back — and with a piercing 
shriek. 

“Water! Bring water!’’ cried the people near 
her. 

“No,” answered the old dame, “it is not wanted; 
she has not fainted.” 

“It is not wanted,” repeated others. “Silence 
there!” 

“Silence!” came the cry from the stalls and pit. 
“Silence in the balcony!” 

“Silence!” came the answer back from the 
balcony. 

“You must not take it to heart so, dear,” whis- 
pered the old woman, “it’s only sham and acting; 
but, indeed. Madam Naso acts this part remark- 
ably well.” 

“Silence!” cried Petra too, for she was already 
deep in the plot again. The fiendish monk had 
come in with a sword; the two lovers had to take 
up a piece of cloth and he cut it in twain between 
them, as the Church parts them asunder, as pain 
cuts into men’s hearts, as of yore the sword above 
Paradise gate cut off return to it. Weeping women 
took the bride’s red wreath and gave her a white 
one, which was to bind her to the cloister all the 

157 


The Fisher Maiden 


days of her life. He whose she was for all time 
and eternity was to know her alive and never touch 
her hand ; know her within those walls, and never 
see her. How heartrending was their farewell to 
one another! Surely never on earth was sorrow 
such as theirs! 

‘‘Good heavens!’’ whispered the old dame to her, 
as the curtain fell, “don’t be so foolish, child ; that’s 
only Madam Naso, the manager’s wife.” 

Petra looked at her with widely opened eyes. 
She thought the woman must be mad ; and as that 
had long been the other’s opinion of Petra, they 
gave up talking, but kept looking at one another 
out of the corners of their eyes. 

When the curtain rose again, Petra no longer 
followed the play; for it was the bride she saw, 
within the cloister walls, and the bridegroom liv- 
ing night and day in desperation without them. 
She suffered their sufferings and joined in their 
prayers; what was actually going on before her 
eyes made no mark on her senses. Suddenly a 
foreboding silence recalled her to the stage: the 
empty church seemed to grow bigger and bigger: 
no sound was there but the clock striking twelve. 
A dull booming sound is coming from the vaulted 
158 


The Fisher Maiden 


aisles; the walls tremble; tall and terrible the holy 
Olaf arises from his shrine in his cerecloth ; spear 
in hand he comes striding along; the watchmen 
flee; out crashes the thunder; and the monk falls 
pierced through and through by the outstretched 
spear: then all is darkness, and the vision has 
passed away. But the monk lies there a heap of 
ashes, that the lightning has struck down. 

Without being herself aware of it, Petra had 
clutched hold of the old lady, who had been rather 
frightened by her convulsive grasp, and now, 
seeing her turning paler and paler, hastened to 
speak. 

“Goodness gracious, child! that’s only Knutsen; 
this is the only part he can do well, because his 
voice is so thick.” 

“No, no, no!” said Petra; “I saw the light 
about his head, and the church tremble under 
his tread!” 

“Will you be quiet there?” came from all direc- 
tions ; “put them out, if they can’t be quiet.” 

“Silence in the balcony!” cries the pit. 

“Silence in the pit!” cries the balcony in an- 
swer. 

Petra shrunk away as if for shelter, but soon had 

159 


The Fisher Maiden 


forgotten everything else, for the lovers were there 
again, the lightning had burst forth for their aid; 
let them fly now ! They are with one another ; they 
are embracing one another. Protect them now, 
thou God on high ! 

Suddenly breaks forth the sounds of shouting 
and of trumpets; the bridegroom is torn from her 
side to fight for his fatherland; he is wounded to 
death; dying, he greets his bride. Petra did not 
understand what had really happened until the 
bride comes quietly on — and sees his dead body! 
Then it is as if all the clouds of sorrow were gath- 
ered above that spot; but a gleam of light disperses 
them; the bride looks up from the dead man’s 
breast and prays that God Almighty will let her 
die! Heaven opens at her glance, the lightning 
blazes forth; the bridal-chamber is up there on 
high — let the bride enter! Ah, truly, she can al- 
ready see it, for from her eyes streams forth peace, 
like the peace on yonder lofty mountain. Her eye- 
lids sink; the struggle has been rewarded with 
divine victory, their steadfast faith has its greater 
than earthly crown ; she is with him now. 

Long sat Petra silent, her heart uplifted in faith, 
her soul filled with the strength of their great 
i6o 


The Fisher Maiden 


Strength. She rose high above all that was petty, 
above all fear and grief ; she rose with a smile for 
all, for all were her brothers and sisters. Evil that 
parts mankind no longer existed; it lay crushed to 
atoms beneath the Thunderer’s spear. People who 
saw her smiled back at her, for this was she who 
had been half out of her senses during the play; 
but she saw nothing in their smile, save the reflec- 
tion of the victory she herself had won. In the 
faith that they smiled in sympathy with her, she 
beamed back at them so radiantly that they were 
forced to smile with her feelings. She walked 
down the broad stairs between two moving rows 
of people, her joy shedding joy around her among 
them, the beauty that floated over her radiating 
beauty over them. The bright gleams within us 
are sometimes so mighty that we throw light on 
all around us, even though we ourselves can not 
see it. ’Tis the greatest triumph in this world to 
be heralded, borne along, and followed by one’s 
own radiant thoughts. 

When, without knowing how, she had got home 
again, she asked what it had all been. There were 
several people there who understood her, and 
whose answers helped her. And when she had 

i6i 


The Fisher Maiden 


fully grasped what a play was, and what great 
actors were able to do, she rose up and said: 

“That is the greatest calling on earth! I will 
be an actress!” 

To the astonishment of all she put on her things 
and went out again ; she felt she must be alone and 
in the open air. She walked away from the town 
and on to the cape near at hand, where the wind 
was blowing strong and fresh. The sea was thun- 
dering below, but the town lay a little way off, on 
both sides of the bay, with a misty glow above it, 
through which numberless isolated lights were 
struggling, without being able to do more than 
light up the veil they could not lift. It was an 
emblem of her soul, it seemed to her. The great 
dark ocean at her feet gave forth a hollow sound 
of warning from fathomless depths; either must 
she sink into them or join with those who were 
struggling to give light. She asked herself how it 
was that she had never before had such thoughts, 
and the answer came to her that it was because only 
the actual moment had sway with her; but she felt 
that at such moments she had indeed power. This, 
too, she saw: just so many moments would be given 
her as there were sparkling lights in the mist yon- 
162 


The Fisher Maiden 

der, and she prayed God so to make them give full 
light that none of them might have been kindled 
by Him in vain. 

She rose up, for the wind was now icy cold. She 
had not been away long; but when she came home 
again she knew what way she must henceforth 
tread. 

Next morning she stood before the manager’s 
door. She could hear a noise as of people loudly 
scolding within; one of the voices seemed to her 
to be like that of the bride of last night; it was 
true it was now speaking in a very different way, 
but still it had power to make Petra tremble. She 
waited for a long while, but as it never seemed 
likely to leave off, she knocked at the door. 

^^Come in!” cried the wrathful voice of a man. 
^^Oh!” cried the woman’s voice, and Petra opened 
the door to see a flying shape in a night-gown and 
with hair wild about her, disappearing in fright- 
ened haste by another door. The manager, a tall 
man with a pair of fierce eyes, over which he at 
once put on his gold-rimmed glasses, was excitedly 
walking up and down the room. His long nose 
so lorded it over his face that all the rest seemed 
163 


The Fisher Maiden 

to be there for its sake; his eyes looked like two 
gun-barrels behind the ramparts, his mouth was 
the moat before it, and his forehead a light bridge 
from it to the forest or outworks. 

“What do you want?” he asked gruffly, pausing 
in his march. “Is it you who want to be a chorus- 
girl?” he added abruptly. 

“Chorus-girl? What is that?” 

“Oh, you don’t know what that is, I see; very 
well, then, what is it you want?” 

“I want to be an actress.” 

“Oh, you want to be an actress, do you? And 
you don’t even know what a chorus-singer is. I 
see. Well, but you speak a dialect.” 

“Dialect? What is that?” 

“Oh, so you don’t know what a dialect is, and 
you want to be an actress, do you? I see. Well, 
that is just like all Norwegians. By dialect, I mean 
that you don’t speak as we do.” 

“No, but I’ve been trying to all this morn- 
ing.” 

“Oh, have you? Come, come; let me hear 
you.” 

Petra struck an attitude, and said as the bride 
had the night before : 


164 


The Fisher Maiden 

“I greet thee, sweet love, good-morrow to 
thee.’^ 

“Devil take it, I do believe you’ve come here to 
make fun of my wife !” 

A peal of laughter came from the next room, and 
the manager opened the door and called out, with- 
out seeming to remember in the slightest that they 
had been engaged in mortal quarrel a moment 
before: 

“Do come here, my dear, and look; here’s a chit 
of a girl who’s trying to caricature you.” 

The head of a woman with untidy, stubborn- 
looking black hair, black eyes, and a large mouth, 
did actually look into the room and laugh. Nev- 
ertheless Petra hurried up to her; for this must be 
the bride. “No,” thought she, as she came nearer; 
“her mother, I suppose.” She looked at the lady 
and said: “I really don’t know — was it you? Or 
are you her mother?” 

Now it was the manager’s turn to laugh; the 
lady had drawn her head back, but continued to 
laugh from her room. 

Petra’s confusion was so strongly shown by her 
face, her bearing, the play of her features, that the 
manager began to look at her with more atten- 

165 


The Fisher Maiden 


tion. He watched her for a moment, then took up 
a book and said, as if nothing in the world had 
taken place: 

“Take this and read something, my lass; but 
read it just as you talk yourself.’’ 

She did so at once. 

“No, no: that’s idiotic; listen!” And he read 
aloud to her and she after him, reading exactly 
as he did. 

“No, no; that’s utterly wrong. Read Norse; 
d — it all, read Norse!” And Petra read aloud 
once more. 

“No, I tell you, no! That’s stark raving mad- 
ness. Don’t you understand what I say? Are you 
an idiot?” 

She tried again and again, and he gave her an- 
other book. 

“See now, that’s just the opposite sort of thing; 
this is comic; read it!” 

Petra read it, but with the same results, until at 
last he grew tired and cried out: 

“Come, come, no more of this! Deuce take it, 
what do you want on the stage? Hang it all, what 
is it you want to be playing?” 

“I want to act what I saw yesterday.” 

i66 


The Fisher Maiden 

“Oh, do you? of course you do? Well, what 
then?” 

“Why,” she answered, much disconcerted, “it 
seemed to me yesterday as if it was all so splendid, 
but to-day I thought how much finer it would be 
if it could have a happy ending; so I wanted to 
alter — ” 

“Oh, so you wanted to alter, did you? I see. 
Well, there’s nothing to prevent you. The writer 
is dead, so of course he can’t correct it any more, 
and you who can neither speak nor read will natu- 
rally be able to improve his work. Yes, that’s 
your Norwegian all overl” 

Petra did not understand a word of all this, but 
she felt that it was going amiss with her, and she 
began to grow anxious. 

“Mustn’t I do it?” she asked him timidly. 

“Oh, of course; there’s nothing in the world to 
hinder you. In God’s name, go and do it! Listen 
to me!” he said, suddenly changing his tone and 
walking straight up to her: “You have no more 
notion of acting than a cat. I have tried you both 
in tragedy and in comedy, and you have talent for 
neither. Because you’ve got a pretty face and a 
fine figure, people have put it into your head, I’ve 


The Fisher Maiden 


no doubt, that you can easily act far better than 
my wife, and so you want to play at once the great- 
est role in the repertoire and alter it into the bar- 
gain. Oh, well, that is just like your Norwegians; 
they are the people to do that kind of thing.” 

Petra had been drawing her breath quicker and 
quicker and now she could scarcely speak; at last 
she ventured to say in a low voice : 

^^May I really not be allowed to, then?” 

He had got up and gone to the window, and 
thought that she was sure to have gone by now; 
he turned round in angry annoyance : but the sight 
of her consternation and the marvelously vivid 
way in which it was shown by her whole bearing 
made him pause for a moment; he suddenly darted 
upon a book, and in a voice and manner from 
which every trace of the past was again blotted 
out, he said: 

‘‘Take this; read this piece, and read it slowly, 
just to let me hear your voice. Now, read away.” 

But she could not read; she could not even see 
the letters. 

“Come, don’t be downhearted,” he said. 

At last she managed to read, but without warmth 
or spirit; he bade her read again, “with more feel- 
168 


The Fisher Maiden 

ing” ; this proved even worse than before. Then 
he quietly took the book from her and said : 

“Now IVe tried you in every possible way, so I 
feel IVe nothing to reproach myself with. I as- 
sure you, my dear young lady, that if I were to 
send you or my boots upon the stage, it would 
make about the same impression — and a very re- 
markable one it would be. And that’s enough now, 
I think.” 

But as a last effort, Petra plucked up courage 
to say: 

“I think that I don’t quite understand — but if 
I only could get to — ” 

“Oh, yes, yes of course! Every little fishing vil- 
lage knows far more about it than we do; the Nor- 
wegian public is the most enlightened one in the 
world. Come, come now, if you don’t go, I shall.” 

She turned to the door and burst into tears. 

“Listen,” he said, for her strong feeling kindled 
a spark of sympathy in him; “was it not you who 
made a disturbance in the theatre last night?” 

She turned red as fire and looked at him. 

“Ah, I see it must have been. Now I know 
you — ^you’re ‘Fisher Girl.’ After the play, I was 
with a gentleman from your native town — he knew 
169 


VoL. 6 


(B)-H 


The Fisher Maiden 


all about you. So that’s why you want to go on 
the stage, is it? You want to try your arts there, 
do you? Very good. But listen to me: my the- - 
atre is a respectable place; I won’t permit any 
attempts of that sort here. Now go! Be off with 
you, I say!” 

But Pjetra was already through the doorway, 
bitterly sobbing as she went down the stairs 
and out into the street. She wept as she ran 
through the crowded thoroughfare, and a woman 
running weeping through the streets attracted, 
as was natural, considerable notice. Men stood 
still to look, little boys ran after her, and soon 
there was a crowd following; in the noise at 
her heels Petra heard the cries that had echoed 
through her attic, she could see the faces in the 
air again, and away she tore. But her recollection 
grew apace with every step she took, and so also 
did the noise behind her; when she had reached 
the house, closed the street door, got into her room 
and bolted the door, she flung herself into a cor- 
ner and tried to ward off the eyes that were on her; 
she kept them off with her hands and with threat- 
ening gestures, until at last she sank down ex- 
hausted — and was saved. 


170 


The Fisher Maiden 

That same afternoon, toward twilight, she was 
on her way from Bergen into the country. She 
did not know whither she was bound, but she was 
determined to go somewhere where she was not 
known. She sat in the dog-cart with her box tied 
on behind her and the driver sitting on it; it was 
raining in torrents as she sat crouching beneath a 
great umbrella and looking gloomingly out at the 
mountain above her and the precipices down be- 
low at her side. The forest in front of her was a 
dark mass of mist peopled with ghostly shapes; 
next moment she would be among them, but ever 
the dark haze kept moving backward as she drew 
nearer to it. A mighty crashing noise, growing 
louder every instant, added to her feeling of jour- 
neying through a mystic land, wherein everything 
had its own meaning and its dark connection with 
the rest, and where mortal man was but a timid 
wayfarer, who must use his eyes well if he wished 
to fare onward. The noise was the sound of many 
a waterfall that, swoolen by the rain, had grown 
to gigantic size and now plunged headlong from 
rock to rock, with a thundering roar. Their way 
frequently took them over narrow bridges, and 
she could see the water seething in the depths be- 
171 


The Fisher Maiden 


low. Sometimes the path curled and wound 
about; here and there lay cultivated land with a 
few turf-thatched houses on it; then, again, their 
road went up the mountains and toward the crags 
and the forest. She was wet and very cold, but she 
meant to go on and on so long as there was day- 
light; next day she would go on still farther, and 
keep on going farther and farther inland, until at 
last she found some place where she dared trust 
herself. In this the Almighty God would help 
her, she felt. He who was now guiding her through 
the night and the tempest. 


172 


The Fisher Maiden 


CHAPTER VIII 

SIGNE AND HER PARENTS 

Among the mountains of the Bergen district, 
in the sheltered and fertile valleys, a mild autumn 
sometimes brings warm summer-like days with it 
long after the fall of the year. At such times the 
cattle are turned out to pasture for a while 
in the middle of the day, even though they have 
already been put into their stalls for winter fod- 
der; the beasts are then apt to get plump and 
fresh, and make a lusty show when they are 
brought back again in the afternoon to the farm- 
stead. 

Just as Petra was about to pass one of these 
farms the cattle were coming down the mountain- 
path ; cows, sheep, and goats, lowing, baa-ing, and 
bleating, as they danced along into the large yard 
to the music of their bells. It was delicious 
weather, and the long white wooden building with 

173 


The Fisher Maiden 


its tall windows stood glittering in the sunlight; 
the firs, the birches, the mountain-ash, and the 
wild cherry trees on the mountain above and the 
briers on the crags around stood so thick together 
that the house looked as if kept warm by them. 
A garden lay by the roadside in front of the main 
building; it was full of apple, pear, and cherry 
trees, and above them all towered some grand old 
ash trees with their spreading crowns. The house 
lay like a nest, hidden among green branches, and 
not to be approached by aught save the sun. But 
it was just this look of being hidden that awakened 
Petra’s desire, and when the sun shone on the 
panes and the merry bells rang out alluringly, 
and Petra learned that the place belonged to a 
clergyman, she suddenly jerked at the reins, and 
crying out, “I must go in here,” turned aside from 
the road and into the garden. 

A pair of Finnish hounds flew forth barking as 
she drove into the courtyard, which was a large 
enclosed square, with cattle-sheds facing the main 
building, a wing of the dwelling-house on the 
right, and a wash-house and servants’ rooms on 
the left. This space was now full of cattle, and 
in their midst stood a lady of middle height and 
174 


The Fisher Maiden 

graceful build; she wore a close-fitting dress and 
a little silk kerchief on her head; round about her 
and almost upon her were goats — ^white goats, 
black goats, brown goats, pied goats — each with its 
little tuneful bell; she had a name for each of the 
goats, and something nice for them all in the bowl 
which the dairymaid kept filling for her. On 
the low steps which led from the main building 
into the yard stood the priest with a dish of salt in 
his hands, and in front of the steps stood the cows 
licking the salt from his hands and from the flag- 
stones on which he was strewing it. The priest 
was not a big man, but he was squarely built; his 
neck was short, his forehead narrow; his bushy 
eyebrows jutted out over his eyes — eyes that rarely 
looked straight at anything, but darted out deep 
side-glances every now and then. His hair was 
short, thick, and gray; it stood up all over his head, 
and grew nearly as thickly down on his neck as it 
did up above; he wore no neck-cloth, and his 
shirt, in which there was a collar-stud, was open 
so that his furry chest was bared to the air; nor 
were his wristbands fastened, so that they hung 
about the small, wiry, and just now very dirty 
hands with which he was giving the cattle salt; 

175 


The Fisher Maiden 

his hands and arms alike were all covered with 
hair. 

He gave a sharp, quick side glance at the 
stranger, who had now got down from the dog- 
cart and worked her way through the goats up to 
his daughter. It was not possible for him to hear 
what they were talking about, because of the kine, 
dogs, and goats; but he saw both of them were 
moving toward him, and, with the goats around 
them, they came up to the steps. A farm-lad 
drove the cattle off at a sign from the priest, and 
Signe, his daughter, called to him — and Petra 
could not fail to notice the sweetness of her 
voice : 

^Tather, here is a lady who is on a journey, and 
would like to rest a day with us.” 

“She is very welcome here!” cried the priest, 
and, giving the salt-dish to a servant, went into his 
own room, on the right side of the building 
— probably to cleanse himself and arrange his 
clothes. 

Petra went with the young lady into the pas- 
sage, which was really a hall, it was so airy and 
roomy; the post-boy was paid, her luggage 
brought in, and she herself shown into a room op- 
176 


The Fisher Maiden 


posite the priest’s study, where she made some lit- 
tle alteration in her dress before going out again 
into the passage to be taken to the family sitting- 
room. 

What a large, bright room it was! Nearly the 
whole side that lay toward the garden was taken 
up with windows, the middle one being a glass 
door leading into it. The windows were broad 
and high, they ran almost down to the floor, and 
were filled with flowers; flowers stood on stands 
about the room; flowers stood on the window-sills; 
and for curtains, ivy trailed down from two small 
flower-pots which hung high up on the top of the 
window-frame. It was like going into a green- 
house built in the midst of a garden, for there were 
bushes and flowers outside, beside the wall, on it, 
and above it, and away on the land in front. And 
yet you forgot to look at the flowers before you 
had been in that room for one minute; it was the 
church you looked at, as it lay high up on that 
peaceful hill on your right, and the blue waters 
which mirrored its image and flowed shining far 
away among the mountains, so that you knew not 
whether it was a lake or an arm of the sea. And 
then those mountains themselves! Not isolated 
177 


The Fisher Maiden 


peaks, but height upon height, the mighty masses 
standing one behind the other, as if here were the 
limit of land for human dwelling. 

When at last Petra withdrew her eyes, the whole 
room seemed to her hallowed by the scene with- 
out; it was the pure and bright flower-frame for 
that magnificent picture. She felt that some in- 
visible power was surrounding her, giving heed 
to her doings, yea, to her very thoughts ; she walked 
about examining and touching the things around 
her without being aware of it. Her eye fell upon 
a painting above the sofa on the wall that faced 
the light; it was a full-length portrait of a lady, 
who seemed to be smiling down at her. She sat 
with her head slightly aside, her hands folded, and 
her right arm resting on a book, on the cover of 
which was painted in legible letters the title, ‘^Sun- 
day Book.’’ Her fair, shining hair, and clear skin 
seemed to beam down a Sabbath calm upon all on 
whom her eye fell. Her smile was earnest with 
the earnestness of resignation. She seemed to have 
the power of drawing every one near to her in 
bonds of love ; she seemed to understand every one, 
for in all she saw only all that was good. Her 
face bore the marks of suffering, but that suffer- 
ing 


The Fisher Maiden 

ing must have been her strength, for assuredly no 
one could ever have dared to have pained such a 
one. A wreath of immortelles hung over the 
frame: she was dead! 

“That was my mother,” said a soft voice behind 
Petra, and she turned and saw the daughter, who 
had gone out and come back again. And now the 
whole room seemed filled with the portrait; every- 
thing led up to it; everything took its color from 
it; everything else was placed there for its sake; 
and the daughter herself was a calm reflection of 
it. Something quieter the latter seemed, a trifle 
more reserved. The mother welcomed every look 
and returned it with glad thanks; the daughter’s 
eyes dropped beneath another’s ; but there was the 
same mildness and gentleness in her glance. She 
had also her mother’s figure, but without any trace 
of weakness; on the contrary, the quick colors in 
her close-fitting dress, in her apron and her little 
kerchief with its Roman pin, gave her appearance 
a bright look of health and a gracefulness and a 
sense for it that made her alike the daughter of 
the portrait and the fairy of the place. As she 
walked among her mother’s flowers, Petra felt 
strongly drawn toward her. With this girl’s 
179 


The Fisher Maiden 


friendship, and in that homestead, all that was 
good in her would surely develop! Ah, if she 
could only stay within it! She felt doubly her 
desolation, and her eyes now followed Signe as she 
walked about and as she stood still. Signe per- 
ceived this and tried to avoid her eyes, but this 
availing her nothing, she grew disconcerted and 
bent down over her flowers. 

At length, Petra saw how rudely she was behav- 
ing, and would have made a shamefaced apology; 
but there was something in the carefully arranged 
hair, the delicate forehead, and the close-fitting 
dress, that warned her to beware of what she did. 
She looked up at the mother. Ah! she, she felt, 
would long ago have embraced her! Was it not 
even now as if she were bidding her welcome? 
Dared she trust to that? No one had ever looked 
at her so before. In that look she could read that 
the mother knew all that had befallen the poor 
wanderer, and could forgive it all. Petra’s heart 
was yearning for kindness, and she could not move 
from beneath those kind eyes. She leaned her head 
to one side and folded her hands like the portrait, 
and turned round thus almost without being con- 
scious of it. 

i8o 


The Fisher Maiden 


“Let me stay here,’’ came from her lips. 

Signe raised herself and turned toward her, un- 
able to speak for astonishment. 

“Let me stay here!” begged Petra again, and 
took a step toward her, “it’s so lovely here!” and 
the tears stood in her eyes. 

“I will ask father to come,” said Signe, and 
Petra followed her with her eyes till she disap- 
peared through the study door. But the moment 
she was alone, fear fell upon her for what she had 
done, and she trembled when she saw the priest’s 
astonished face in the doorway. He came in, 
somewhat more neatly dressed than before, and 
with a pipe, which he held tightly in his hand and 
took from between his lips after every whiff, blow- 
ing out the smoke in three puffs, each with a little 
sigh of appreciation. He did this several times 
as he stood in the middle of the room in front of 
Petra, not looking at her, but evidently waiting 
for her to speak. But she did not dare to repeat 
her request in this man’s presence, for he looked 
so grave and stern. 

“You wish to remain here, do you?” he asked at 
last, and flashed a sharp, quick side glance at 
her. 

i8i 


The Fisher Maiden 


have nowhere to go to,” she answered, her 
voice trembling with nervousness. 

‘Where do you come from?” 

In a low voice Petra told him her name and that 
of her town. 

“Why have you come here?” 

“I do not know — I am looking for — I will pay 
for myself — I — Oh, I don’t know!” She turned 
aside and for a moment could get no further; then 
plucking up heart again she went on : 

“I will do all you ask me, if only I may stay 
here and not have to travel on any more — and not 
have to ask any more favors.” 

The daughter had come in again with her father 
and was by the fireplace, where she stood with 
downcast eyes and hands busy among the withered 
rose-leaves. The priest made no answer; there 
was no sound save the puffs from his pipe, as he 
stood looking at Petra, his daughter, and the 
portrait. 

Now it often happens that the same object 
produces widely different impressions in different 
people, and while Petra was silently praying the 
portrait to make him lenient to her, to him it 
seemed that it was whispering: “Protect our 
182 


The Fisher Maiden 


child! let no unknown stranger be her compan- 
ion!” He turned round to Petra with a sharp 
side glance: 

“No!” he said, “you can not stay here!” 

Petra turned pale, heaved a violent, deep sigh, 
looked wildly around her, and darting into an ad- 
jacent room, the door of which stood half open, she 
flung herself down by the table and gave way to 
all her grief and bitter disappointment! Father 
and daughter looked at one another; her want of 
manners in thus bursting into another room and 
seating herself there alone and unasked, could 
only be equaled by her conduct in coming in from 
the highway, begging to be allowed to stay there, 
and then bursting out crying when refused. The 
priest went after her; not to talk to her, but, on 
the contrary, to shut the door behind her. He 
came back, his face all flushed, and said softly 
to his daughter, who was still standing by the 
stove : 

“Did you ever see the like of this woman? 
Who is she? What is it she wants?” 

The daughter did not at once answer, but when 
she did, she said in a still lower tone than her 
father: 


183 


The Fisher Maiden 


‘‘She behaves very oddly, but there’s something 
very singular about her.” 

The priest paced up and down, looking at the 
door. At length he paused, and said under his 
breath : 

“I don’t think she can have all her wits about 
her, do you?” and as Signe made no answer, he 
came nearer and repeated more decidedly: “She 
is mad. Signe, half-crazy, in fact: that’s what’s sin- 
gular about her.” 

He began to walk up and down again, and 
thoughts of other things came into his mind so 
that he had nearly forgotten what he had last 
said, when his daughter at last softly replied: 

“I don’t think she can be mad,” she said, “but 
she is certainly very unhappy,” and she bent her 
head again over the dry rose-leaves among which 
her fingers were busy. 

Neither her movements nor the tone of her voice 
would have struck anybody else as noticeable, but 
her father was straightway an altered man as he 
walked up and down, looking at the portrait, and 
at last said in very low tones : 

“Do you think then, because she’s unhappy, that 
mother would have asked her to stay?” 

184 


The Fisher Maiden 

‘‘Mother would not have answered for some 
days,” answered the daughter in a whisper, as she 
bent still lower over the rose-leaves. 

The slightest remembrance of the mother up 
there, when the daughter thus brought it before 
him, was enough to make that shaggy lion’s head 
mild as a lamb’s. He felt at once the truth of 
what she said, and stood before her like a boy at 
school caught cribbing. He forgot to smoke; he 
left off walking about. At last he whispered: 

“Shall I ask her to stay a few days?” 

“You’ve already given her your answer.” 

“Yes; but it’s one thing to let her live here and 
another to let her stay a few days.” 

Signe seemed to be thinking for a while, and 
then she said: 

“Well, you must do what you think best.” 

The priest was still considering what he 
had best do as he walked up and down, puff- 
ing away vigorously; suddenly he came to a 
halt. 

“Will you go in to her, or shall I?” he said. 

“It would be better if you went in, of course,” 
answered the daughter with a loving look. 

He was just going to turn the handle of the door^ 
i8s 


The Fisher Maiden 


when a peal of laughter rang out from the room 
at the other side of it; then there was silence for a 
moment — then peal upon peal burst forth again. 
The priest, who had moved back a little, now 
hurried forward and his daughter after him; 
surely their strange guest must have suddenly 
fallen into hysterics. 

When the door was opened they saw Petra sit- 
ting where she had flung herself down, with a book 
before her, over which she had dropped without 
being aware of it. Her tears had fallen over its 
leaves; she saw this and was trying to wipe them 
off, when her eye was caught by a vulgar expression 
which she had often enough heard at the time 
when she ran wild in the streets, but which she 
thought nobody would ever have dared to print. 
In her amazement she forgot to weep, but sat star- 
ing at the book. Why, what could all this mad 
stuff be? 

She read on with open mouth: it grew worse 
and worse; it was so coarse and yet so irre- 
sistibly funny that she could not help going on 
reading. She read till she forgot all else ; she read 
herself away from pain and grief, from time and 
place, with old Father Holberg; for of course it 

i86 


The Fisher Maiden 


was his work! She burst out laughing, she began 
to roar with laughter — even now, when the priest 
and his daughter stood by her, she failed to see 
their grave faces or to remember what she had 
begged of them. But she went on laughing as she 
asked : 

^What is this? what in the world can this be?” 
and turned to the title-page. 

Then the color left her cheeks as she looked up 
at them and down again at the well-known hand- 
writing. There are things which strike upon the 
heart like a rifle-shot; things which we think we 
have fled hundreds of miles from, and find lying 
right in front of us — here on the first page stood 
written: ‘^Hans Oedegaard.” 

“Is the book his?” cried Petra, all the blood 
burning up in her cheeks again. “Is he coming 
here?” she cried, getting up. 

“He has promised to,” answered Signe — and 
then Petra called to mind that there was a priest 
and his family in the Bergen diocese with whom 
he had been when abroad; she had only been jour- 
neying in a circle then, and it had led her back 
to him. 

“Is he coming soon, do you think? Or is he al- 
187 


The Fisher Maiden 

ready here?” And she got up at once as if to make 
her escape. 

^‘No, indeed, for he’s ill,” said Signe. 

“Ah, yes, of course! he’s ill,” repeated Petra 
sadly, and sank down again. 

“But tell me,” cried Signe, “are not you 
the—” 

“ — Fisher Girl?” said the priest, finishing the 
sentence. 

“Yes,” said Petra, looking up at them beseech- 
ingly. “Yes, I am the Fisher Girl.” 

They knew her well enough here ; for, indeed, 
Oedegaard used to talk of nothing else. 

“That alters the case,” said the priest. He felt 
that something must have gone amiss, and that 
friendly help was needed. He added: “Remain 
here for the present.” 

Petra looked up and marked the look with 
which Signe thanked him; that was so sweet to her 
that she went back, took both Signe’s hands in hers 
— she dared go no further — and said with a deep 
blush, “I will tell you all as soon as we two are 
alone.” 

An hour later Signe had heard all Petra’s story 
and told it her father. By his advice she wrote 

i88 


The Fisher Maiden 


that very day to Oedegaard and kept writ- 
ing to him all the while Petra remained in the 
house. 

When Petra that night lay down to rest in her 
big warm bed, in a comfortable room with the 
birch wood crackling in the hearth and the New 
Testament between the two candles on the spotless 
table by the bed, she took the book into her hands 
and thanked God for everything, yes, for evil as 
well as for good. 

As a young man with an ardent spirit and natu- 
ral powers of eloquence. Signers father had made 
up his mind to become a clergyman; his parents, 
who were wealthy people, had been much against 
it; they would much rather have had him choose 
what they called an independent calling; but their 
opposition only increased the strength of his desire, 
and when he had finished his education at home, 
he went abroad to continue his studies. It hap- 
pened during a preliminary sojourn in Denmark 
that he often met a young lady who belonged to a 
sect whose views were not so austere as his own, 
and which he was therefore much opposed to; 
consequently he was ever endeavoring to work 
189 


The Fisher Maiden 


upon her; but the way in which she looked at him 
and thus silenced him was never out of his mind 
during his stay abroad. As soon as he came back, 
he went and visited her. They were constantly 
together again, and each so grew in the other’s 
favor that they got engaged, and shortly after were 
married. 

Now it became clear to them that they each 
had had a secret plan for the other; he had 
thought to draw her into his sterner creed, and she 
had felt such childlike confidence in her power to 
bring his strength and his eloquence to the service 
of her community. The first very gentle attempt 
on his part was met by one of the same sort on 
hers; he drew back disappointed and mistrustful. 
She quickly enough perceived that, and from that 
day forth he went on his guard against attempts 
on her part, she against his. But neither of them 
ever made another ; for both had grown alarmed. 
He feared his own passionate nature; she, lest by 
failure she should throw away her chance of win- 
ning him over; for the hope of so doing she never 
gave up — it had become the end and aim of her 
life. But the contest never came; for, in her pres- 
ence, strife was not possible. 

190 


The Fisher Maiden 

His active temperament and hardly restrained 
passions were, however, bound to find some out- 
let, and this they did each time he went up into 
the pulpit and saw her sitting beneath him. His 
congregation was drawn in with him into a whirl- 
pool, and as he made them feel his excitement, so 
they in turn made him feel theirs. She saw this 
and bade her fearful heart find ease in kindly acts, 
and in her daughter, when after a while she be- 
came a mother; her she took in her bodily and 
spiritual embrace and bore her away to be the com- 
panion of her solitude. On the child’s innocence 
she bestowed her own dear hopes; from her, re- 
ceived them back; in her, nurtured them; with her 
she held love’s banquet, and came back from it to 
him, the strong, stern man, with the double sweet- 
ness of womanhood and Christianity upon her, so 
that it was not possible for him to say anything that 
might trouble her. He could not help loving her 
more than the whole world beside, and the more 
tenderly he loved her, the more his whole soul 
was permeated with the yearning to help her to 
the eternal salvation. Quietly the mother’s right 
withdrew the child from his religious instruction, 
so that the child’s songs, the child’s questionings 
191 


The Fisher Maiden 


were but a fresh source of pain to him; but when 
he was stung up in the pulpit to bitter and violent 
excitement, his housemate only welcomed him 
home again with somewhat more gentleness than 
usual; her eyes indeed spoke, but her mouth ut- 
tered never a word. And his little daughter clung 
to his hands and looked up at him with her 
mother’s eyes. 

Of all things they talked in this household, save 
of the one thing that lay at the bottom of all their 
thoughts. But tension such as this could not en- 
dure very long. The mother continued to smile, 
it is true, but only because she did not dare 
let herself weep. When the time came for the 
daughter to be prepared for confirmation, and it 
was his turn now, by right of his office, to take 
charge of her religious instruction, which till now 
the mother, by right of hers, had done, the strain 
reached its utmost; and after the sermon to the 
candidates for confirmation, and the reading out 
of their names, the mother became ill much as 
other people get tired. She smiled as she said that 
now she could no longer walk, and some days later, 
smiling as before, she told them she could no 
longer sit up. She liked to have her daughter 
192 


The Fisher Maiden 


constantly by her; though she could no longer talk 
to her, she could at least see her. 

And the daughter knew what the mother liked 
best. She read to her from the Book of Life, and 
sang the hymns of her childhood, the new, quick- 
ening psalms of her community. It was long be- 
fore the priest fully grasped what was about to 
happen; but when he did, all other thoughts left 
him save one — let her but speak to him, if only a 
word or two; but she could not; she was no longer 
able to talk. He stood at the foot of the bed, look- 
ing at her and praying to God. She smiled at him 
and he fell on his knees, and, taking his daughter’s 
hand, placed it in hers, as if to say: “Here, keep 
her; she shall be thine forever!” Then she smiled 
as she never had before — and in that smile her 
soul fled. 

It was long before the priest could be got to talk 
again; another was appointed to look after his 
flock, and he himself went about from place to 
place, from room to room, as if seeking something. 
He walked softly; when he spoke, it was in a sub- 
dued tone ; and it was only by dropping into all his 
quiet ways that his daughter was gradually able 
to become the companion of his heart. Now she 

193 


VoL. 6 


(B)~I 


The Fisher Maiden 


began to help him in his search : every word of the 
mother was called up again, and “what she would 
have wished” became henceforth the standard of 
his life. The daughter’s constant intercourse with 
her — to which he had remained a stranger — ^be- 
came now for the first time his life too. From the 
earliest times that she could remember as a child, 
everything was gone over again ; her hymns were 
sung, her prayers prayed, the sermons she had 
most loyed read over one after another, and 
her comments and explanations of them deeply 
pondered. 

Thus actively employed again, the desire came 
upon him to go to the spot where first he had met 
her, and try to follow in her footsteps the path she 
had trodden. Himself a beginner in this new life, 
his senses were open to all the beginnings around 
him — the great national, the lesser political ones — 
and these brought back to him his own young 
vigor. His strength, and with it his desire, came 
flooding back on him; but now he was burning to 
proclaim the Word, so that it might fit men for 
Life and not alone for Death. 

Before shutting himself up again in his parish 
among the mountains with his great work, he 
194 


The Fisher Maiden 


yearned to take a wider survey of all without 
him. So they traveled far and wide and now 
rested at home again, full of memories of great 
things. 

Such were they among whom Petra now 
lived. 


195 


The Fisher Maiden 


CHAPTER IX 

SMOKE, FIRE, AND SNOW 

In the third year of her stay, one Friday a few 
days before Christmas, the two girls were sitting 
together in the evening twilight; the priest had 
just come in with his pipe. The day had gone by 
like most of the others in these last two years; it 
had been begun with a walk, then breakfast, and 
after that an hour’s singing and playing, followed 
by language lessons or other studies and occupa- 
tions about the house. In the afternoon each went 
to her own room. Signe happened that particu- 
lar day to have been writing to Oedegaard, after 
whom Petra never inquired; nor, indeed, could she 
bear any reference to past times. Toward evening 
they went for a sledge-ride, and then came back to 
talk together, to sing, and later to read aloud. 
For this the priest always came in ; he read remark- 
ably well, and his daughter not less so. Petra 
196 


The Fisher Maiden 

learned both their way of reading, paying par- 
ticular attention to the way they spoke. Signe’s 
voice and accent had such a charm for her that it 
seemed to echo in her ears when she was by her- 
self; but Petra had such a high esteem for Signe 
that a man would have considered her madly in 
love with himself for a quarter as much; indeed, 
she often made Signe blush. Either the priest or 
Signe was in the habit of reading aloud every 
evening — for Petra could not be prevailed upon 
to read — and they had thus gone through all the 
masterpieces of Norse literature and were gradu- 
ally working their way into those of other lands, 
reading for preference dramatic poetry. Just as 
they were about to light the lamps to begin that 
evening, a girl came in from the kitchen and said 
that there was a man outside with a message for 
Petra. It turned out to be a sailor from her native 
place. Her mother had made him promise to visit 
her when he went to those parts ; he had walked a 
matter of seven miles and had to start off again 
at once, as the ship would soon be sailing. Petra 
went part of the way too ; she wanted to have some 
further talk with him, as he was a reliable man and 
she had known him before. 

197 


The Fisher Maiden 


The evening was somewhat dark : there was no 
light in the farmstead nor in any of the windows, 
except in the laundry, where they were busy wash- 
ing; nor was there any light along the road, and 
the way was scarce visible until the moon had strug- 
gled over the mountain-tops. But she walked 
along through the forest fearlessly, spite of the 
ugly-looking shadows among the firs. One piece 
of news in especial had made her want to walk 
with the sailor. He had told her that Pedro Ohl- 
sen’s mother was dead, and that Pedro himself had 
sold the house and moved up to Gunlaug’s, where 
he lived in Petra’s room. This had happened 
nearly two years before, but her mother had never 
said a word about it. Now Petra could guess who 
it was that wrote her mother’s letters, a question 
she had often asked her without ever getting any 
answer; but every letter always ended with 
these words: ‘With greetings from the writer 
of this.” 

The sailor had been bidden to ask how long she 
meant to stay at the parsonage, and what she meant 
to do afterward? To the first of these questions, 
Petra answered that she did not know; to the sec- 
ond, that he was to say to her mother there was but 
198 


The Fisher Maiden 

one thing in the world she wished to be, and if she 
could not be that, she would be miserable all her 
life; but for the present she might not say what 
that was. 

While Petra was walking along with the sailor 
and talking to him, the priest and Signe remained 
in the sitting-room talking of her, in whom they 
both had such joy. The farm-bailiff came in 
meanwhile and, after giving his account of the 
day’s doings, asked whether either of them knew 
that the strange young lady was in the habit of 
going up and down from her room at night by a 
rope-ladder? He had to repeat it three times, for 
neither of them understood what he meant; he 
might just as well have been saying that she was 
in the habit of going up and down on the rays of 
the moon. The room was all dark, and there was 
not a sound in it; even the priest’s pipe was in- 
audible. At last he was forced to speak, and in 
a heavy voice he asked : 

“Who saw her?” 

“I myself did. I was up yonder looking 
after the horses; it might have been about one 
o’clock.” 

“She went down on a rope-ladder, you say?” 

199 


The Fisher Maiden 

“And up again.” 

There was another long pause. Petra’s room 
was in the upper part of the house, in a corner 
that looked out on the lane. She was the only 
person up there, for nobody else had a room in 
that part of the building; there could therefore 
be no mistake. 

“She must have walked in her sleep,” said the 
man, turning to go. 

“But she can not have made a rope-ladder in her 
sleep,” said the priest. 

“No, that’s what I thought; so I thought it was 
best to tell you about it, sir. I have said nothing 
to any one else.” 

“Has any one but you seen it?” 

“No — but if you doubt me, sir, the rope-ladder 
will be a proof ; if that’s not up there, my eyes must 
have seen false.” 

Up rose the priest at once. 

“Father!” cried Signe. 

“Bring the light!” answered the priest, in a tone 
that admitted no resistance. 

“Father!” cried Signe, once more, as she lighted 
the candle herself and handed it to him. 

“Yes,T’m her father, as well as yours, so long 


200 


The Fisher Maiden 

as she’s in my house; it’s my duty to look after 
her.” 

The priest walked first with the light, Signe and 
the bailiff following. Everything in the little 
room was in order, save that on the table by the 
bed lay a heap of books, one open on the top of 
another. 

^‘Does she read at night?” 

“I don’t know; but she never puts out her light 
before one o’clock.” 

Signe and her father looked at one another. 
All separated for the night at the parsonage be- 
tween ten and half-past, and they met again in the 
morning between six and seven. 

“Do you know anything of this?” asked the 
father. 

Signe made no reply, but the bailiff, who was 
on his knees groping about in a corner of the room, 
answered from where he knelt: 

“Anyway, she’s not alone.” 

“What’s that you’re saying?” 

“There’s always some one with her talking to 
her; sometimes they talk very loud, for I’ve heard 
her both begging and threatening. She’s in some- 
body’s power, you may be sure, poor creature 1” 
201 


The Fisher Maiden 

Signe turned away, and the priest was pale as 
death. 

“And here’s the ladder,” continued the man, as 
he drew it forth and held it up. 

Two clothes-lines had been put side by side and 
a third tied to one of them, passed over the other 
and knotted, then knotted to the other half an ell 
lower down, and so on till they formed a perfect 
ladder. They examined it closely. 

“Was she away long?” asked the priest. 

“Away? How do you mean?” said the bailiff. 

“Was she long gone, when she had got down?” 

Signe stood trembling with cold and fright. 

“She did not go away at all; she went down and 
up again.” 

“Up again! Who was it went away, then?” 

Signe made a sudden movement and burst out 
weeping. 

“There could not have been any one with her 
when I saw her yesterday evening.” 

“There was no one on the ladder, you say, but 
her?” 

“No.” 

“And she went down and then up again?” 

“Yes.” 


202 


The Fisher Maiden 

“She must have wanted to try it,’’ said the priest, 
and breathed a little more freely. 

“Before she let any one else use it,” added the 
bailiff. 

“You think, then,” said the priest, looking at 
him, “this is not the first she has made?” 

“No; else how could she have had people up 
there with her?” 

“Have you known long that she had any one 
with her?” 

“Not before this winter, when she began to use 
lights; it never struck me to come down here 
before.” 

“What!” said the priest sternly, “you have 
known of this the whole winter? Then why did 
you not speak of it sooner?” 

“I thought that it must have been some one of 
the household who was with her; it was only when 
I saw her yesterday night on the ladder that I sus- 
pected it to be somebody else. Of course if I had 
thought of that sooner, I would have told you of 
it sooner.” 

“Yes, yes; it’s evident enough she has deceived 
us all!” 

Signe looked up at him entreatingly, 

203 


The Fisher Maiden 


“She ought not to be so far off from all the rest 
of the household, perhaps,’’ put in the bailiff as he 
rolled up the ladder. 

“She ought not to be in this house at all after 
this,” said the priest, and he turned to go, the others 
following; but when he had come down and put 
the lamp on the table, Signe came and flung her- 
self into his arms. 

“Yes — -yes, my child,” was all he could say to 
her, “this is a grievous disappointment.” 

A little later, as Signe was sitting in the corner 
of the sofa with a handkerchief before her eyes, 
and the priest was walking restlessly up and down, 
pipe in hand, they heard noisy screams from the 
kitchen, quick steps on the stairs, and the sounds 
of hurry and confusion in the passage overhead. 
They both hastened out. Petra’s room was on fire! 
A spark from their candle must have fallen into 
the corner — for it was from that direction the fire 
came — and in an instant set fire to the hangings. 
The woodwork of the window was just on the point 
of catching fire, when a passer-by saw the flames 
from the road and rushed in and told the people 
at work in the laundry. The fire was soon put out ; 
but in the country, where everything goes its even 
204 


The Fisher Maiden 

way — year in, year out — it needs but a slight ex- 
citement to arouse people’s minds. Fire, their 
greatest and most terrible foe, is never out of their 
thoughts, so that when it does thrust up its head 
from the depths below, licking its lips as it hisses 
and roars for its prey, they fall into trembling fear 
and have no peace for weeks ; indeed, some of them 
never rest quietly again. 

When the priest and his daughter were together 
again in the sitting-room and had lighted the 
lamps, both felt it as a sort of discomforting omen 
that Petra’s room should thus have been straight- 
way annihilated and every token and reminder of 
her burned up. At that moment they heard Petra’s 
clear voice questioning and exclaiming. She 
darted up and down the stairs, ran from bedroom 
to passage, from passage to kitchen, and then came 
dashing into the sitting-room, still in her outdoor 
clothes. 

‘^Goodness gracious!” she cried, “my room’s 
been burned out!” 

Nobody answered, but, without a pause, she 
ran on: 

“Who’s been up here? When did it happen? 
How did the fire start?” 

205 


The Fisher Maiden 

To this the priest replied that it was he who had 
been up there; they had been looking for some- 
thing — and so saying, he eyed her narrowly. 
Petra did not show the least sign of astonishment, 
and still less did she show any fear of what they 
might have seen. It gave her no misgivings that 
Signe did not look up from her sofa-corner; she 
thought that merely arose from the shock the fire 
had been to her, and went on asking how it was 
discovered, how put out, who had been there first 
— and, not getting quick enough answers to all her 
questions, rushed out again as she had entered. 
She came dashing in again with her walking 
things half off, half on, and told the priest and 
Signe all that had happened, and how she herself 
had seen the flames and ran on in great terror, but 
was glad now to find that it was no worse. As she 
spoke, she took off the rest of her outdoor things, 
took them out of the room and, coming back, took 
a seat by the table, never leaving off telling them 
what this one had said, that one done, etc.; the 
whole place was turned upside down, and this she 
seemed to find very amusing. As the others still 
continued silent, she bewailed that the fire had 
spoiled the evening for them all ; for she so enjoyed 
206 


The Fisher Maiden 

what they had been lately reading aloud — “Romeo 
and Juliet” — that she had meant to ask Signe that 
very evening to read to her again the scene she 
thought most beautiful of all — Romeo’s parting 
from Juliet on the balcony. 

In the midst of her flood of talk came in one of 
the maids from the wash-house and said that they 
were in want of clothes-lines ; there was a bundle 
of them missing. 

Petra turned suddenly fiery red, and started up, 
crying, “I know where they are, I’ll go and get 
them but before she had got far she remembered 
the fire, paused, and said, amid her blushes, “Good- 
ness gracious, they are sure to have been burned; 
they were in my room !” 

Signe had turned toward her, the priest was 
eying her with his piercing sidelong glance. 

^What did you want clothes-lines for?” he asked, 
and his breath came so quick and short that he 
could scarce get out the words. 

As Petra looked at him, his terrible earnestness 
made her half afraid for one instant, and the next 
half tempted her to burst out laughing. She 
struggled against this impulse for a moment, but 
as her eyes fell on him again, such a peal of laugh- 
207 


The Fisher Maiden 

ter rang out from the depths of her heart that it 
was useless for her to try to check it; but there 
was no more sign of a guilty conscience in her 
laughter than there is in that of a rippling brook. 
Signe could hear that from the sound of her voice, 
and sprang up from the sofa, crying out: 

“What is it all? what is it?’’ 

Petra turned, laughed, dashed away, ducked 
her head down and made for the door. But 
Signe had planted herself in the way, still cry- 
ing out, “What is it all about? Tell me, Petra 
dear.” 

Petra hid her face on Signe’s breast, as if to pre- 
vent herself being seen, but still went on laughing 
without stopping. 

Now guilt does not behave thus, and the priest 
himself could not fail to see this. He, who was 
gathering himself up but a moment before to tower 
aloft in indignant anger, slipped down instead 
into merry laughter, drawing Signe along with 
him, for nothing in the world is more catching 
than laughter, especially laughter for which there 
seems to be no reason. The vain attempts that the 
priest and Signe kept making to find out what they 
were laughing at only added to the fulness of their 
208 


The Fisher Maiden 

mirth ; the maid-servant, who was in the room wait- 
ing for her answer, could at last hold out no longer, 
but burst forth into a loud guffaw; she had a big, 
coarse laugh that she felt to be out of keeping with 
such fine folks and furniture, so she hastened to 
the door and gave full swing to her merriment 
in the kitchen. Of course she carried the con- 
tagion with her there, and straightway a perfect 
storm of laughter burst in upon them from the 
kitchen, where they knew even less than the others 
what there was to laugh at, and this set them off 
laughing again in the parlor. 

When, at length, they were nearly worn out with 
laughing. Signe made a last attempt to find out 
the cause of it. 

“Come now, you shall tell mel” she cried, as she 
held Petra’s hands tightly. 

“No, no — not for anything in the world!” 

“Oh, yes, you shall! You see, I know already 
what it is!” cried the other. 

Petra looked at her and burst out laughing 
again; but Signe went on: 

“Father knows, too!” 

This time Petra did not laugh, she actually, 
yelled with merriment; she tore herself from 
209 


The Fisher Maiden 


Signe’s grasp, and made for the door, but Signe 
got hold of her again. Petra turned round to try 
to wrest herself free, for get away she would 
and must at any price. She kept on laughing dur- 
ing her struggles, but there were tears in her eyes 
now. Then Signe let her go — out dashed Petra — 
and after her, Signe; both of them darted into 
Signers room. 

There Signe threw her arms round Petra’s neck, 
and Petra clasped her closely. 

‘^Goodness gracious! do you both know it?” she 
whispered. 

“Yes; we went up there with the bailiff; he had 
seen you — and we found the rope-ladder!” 

There was another scream from Petra and an- 
other attempt at flight, but this time only as far 
as the corner of the sofa, where she hid her face 
in the cushion while Signe, leaning over her, whis- 
pered into her ear all about their voyage of dis- 
covery and its burning consequences. What had 
cost her but a short while before so many tears 
and so much anxiety, seemed now such a merry 
matter that she told the story very humorously. 
Petra alternately listened and stopped her ears; 
looked up and hid her face again. When Signe 
210 


The Fisher Maiden 

had done, and both of them were sitting there in 
the darkness, Petra whispered: 

“Do you know. Signe, what it all means? I 
can’t possibly manage to get to sleep when we go 
to our rooms at ten o’clock, for whatever we hap- 
pen to have been reading always makes too much 
impression on me for that; so I learn by heart all 
that I like best in it. In this way I have learned 
whole scenes, and I say them aloud when I’m alone. 
When we came to ‘Romeo and Juliet’ I thought 
it the finest thing ever written ; it made me crazy 
and wild, and I felt I must try the rope-ladder. I 
had never imagined before that one could go up 
and down on such a thing; so I got hold of some 
ropes — and that scamp of a bailiff must have been 
down below at the time and seen me! Oh, its 
nothing to laugh at. Signe! It’s so tomboyish! 
I shall never be anything but a tomboy. Signe — 
and now, of course, I shall be the talk of the whole 
place to-morrow!” 

But Signe, who had burst out laughing again, 
fell upon her with kisses and caresses, and rushed 
out of the room, screaming: 

“Father must know of this; father must be 
told!” 


2II 


The Fisher Maiden 


“Are you mad, Signe?” cried Petra, and the 
one dashed off after the other so that they 
came flying into the room as they had flown out 
of it. 

They almost knocked over the priest, who was 
just about to come and see what had become of 
them. Signe began her story, and Petra darted 
out again ; but the moment she got outside the door 
she felt that she ought to have stopped in the room, 
just to hinder Signe telling. She tried to get in 
again, but the priest held the door fast, and it was 
no good her trying to move it, so she thumped on 
it with both hands from the outside, yelled and 
stamped on the floor to drown Signe’s voice, who 
only talked all the louder for it. Not till the priest 
had heard the whole story, and was laughing as 
loudly and merrily as Signe at the new method of 
studying the classics, did he open the door; but 
then Petra scudded off. 

After supper, at which Petra was present and 
had been properly teased by the priest, she was 
made to recite, by way of punishment, what she 
had learned by heart. She showed them that she 
really did know all the best scenes she had heard 
read, and not single parts alone, but all in the 


212 


The Fisher Maiden 


piece. While reciting them, at times her enthu- 
siasm seemed about to blaze forth, but she quickly 
smothered it. As soon as the priest observed this, 
he bade her put more feeling into it; but she only 
used the more repression. She went on and on, 
and they kept at it for hours ; she knew the comic 
scenes as well as she knew the tragic, the mirthful 
ones as well as the serious. Her memory both as- 
tonished and amused them; she laughed, too, as 
she bade them try also. 

“I could wish that the poor actors had but 
an eighth part of your powers, dear,’’ said 
Signe. 

^^God keep her from ever taking to acting,” said 
the priest with a sudden deep earnestness. 

“Why, father; surely you don’t think that our 
Petra could ever dream of such a thing?” said 
Signe, laughing. “I only spoke of it because I 
have always noticed that a person who has been 
acquainted with the poetry of his own land from 
early youth has never any wish to go on the stage, 
while one who knows very little of poetry until 
he has grown up often yearns to do so. It is a 
longing, suddenly stirred up, that leads them 
astray.” 


213 


The Fisher Maiden 

“That is very true. A really cultivated person 
seldom goes on to the stage.” 

“And still more seldom a person with a real 
feeling for poetry?” 

“Yes, and when he does it is generally due to 
some fault in his character which lets vanity and 
frivolity get the upper hand of him. Both in my 
student years and when I was on my travels I got 
to know a good many actors, but I have never 
known, nor met any one who knew, one that led 
a really Christian life. I have come across some 
who felt drawn toward it, it is true; but there is 
something so exciting and turbulent in their work 
that they never seem able to quietly collect their 
thoughts, even long after they have left off. When 
I have talked with them about it, they have them- 
selves admitted it and bewailed it. ‘But then,’ they 
have always added, ‘we must console ourselves with 
the thought that we are not worse than a good 
many others.’ But that I call a pitiable consola- 
tion, and a calling which can in nowise be made 
to help us to the Christian’s life — a sinful calling. 
God help them, and keep all that are pure in heart 
from it!” 

Next day — Saturday — the priest was up very 
214 


The Fisher Maiden 


early, as usual. He strolled round among his 
laborers, struck out a bit beyond the farm, and 
came home again at daybreak. Just as he was go- 
ing by the house into the yard, his eye fell on an 
open copy-book, or something of the sort, which 
had most likely been thrown out of Petra’s window 
the evening before, and not been seen again owing 
to its being of the same color as the snow. He 
picked up the book and took it in with him to his 
study; as he spread it out to dry it, he saw that it 
was an old French exercise-book, in which verses 
had since been written. He was not thinking of 
looking at the verses, when his eye was caught by 
the word “actress” written up and down, along and 
across, in corners and down whole pages — he could 
see the word even among the verses. He sat down 
and looked into the thing more closely. There 
was one set of verses which had been altered and 
corrected time upon time, and which even in the 
last version stood full of corrections, but was at 
any rate legible : 

‘‘One thing, dear book, I’ll trust to thee, 

’Tis the one thing I mean to be : 

An actress ; it shall be my part. 

To show the world a woman’s heart, 

215 


The Fisher Maiden 


Why she weeps and why she smiles, 

All her joy and all her strife, 

All her truth and all her wiles. 

Every passion of her life. 

God on high I kneel to Thee : 

Grant me this one thing to be.” 

A little further on there stood written: 

“Can I not thus, Lord, do Thy will? 

Can I not be Thy servant still?” 

A little further on some lines, evidently sug- 
gested by a poem they had read together some 
months before: 

“O I would that I were an Elfin fair, 

An Elfin fair; 

Td ride upon moonbeams and sport in the air. 

Sport in the air ! 

And flit to and fro at my own sweet will. 

My own sweet will ; 

And all who dared spy at me quickly kill, 
Quickly Td kill. 

no, that would be wicked, tho’ — lirum, 

Lirum, la!” 

216 


The Fisher Maiden 


There came many scratched-out lines, correc- 
tions, sketches, notes, and then: 

‘Tra, la, la — wouldn't it be fun 
To dance with all alike and never care for one? 
Tra, la, la — wouldn't it be fun 
To have them all come after me while I would 
favor none?" 

Then came a letter in neat, clear handwriting: 

^'Dearest Heinrich — Don't you think that you and 
I are the cleverest of the whole lot? This will be the 
cause of a good deal of trouble to us both, but what does 
that matter? I permit you to have the honor of taking 
me to the masquerade to-morrow evening; I have never 
yet been there, you must know, and I long for some real 
mad trick or another, for everything in this house is so 
terribly quiet and dreary. 

‘‘You are a sad scamp, Heinrich. What are you up to 
now, I wonder? Here sit I, Your own, 

Pernille." 

The last thing that the priest read was 
some verses written again and again in plain, 
217 


VoL. 6 


(B)-J 


The Fisher Maiden 


clear writing; she had evidently copied them 
from some book, and had wanted to learn 
them by heart: 

‘‘Mighty thoughts my heart are filling, 

Feeling high my bosom thrilling ; 

Thoughts far greater than my strength, 
Feelings more than I can bear ; 

O my Saviour, come at length. 

Thou who conqueredst pain and care. 

Help me, Christ, my thoughts to tell. 

Draw them from their silent well ; 

Lord, in pity help thou me, 

Loki bind, set Balder free/’ 

Many other things were written in the book, but 
the priest read no farther. 

So it was to be a play-actress that this girl had 
come into his house and got his daughter to teach 
her. This was the secret purpose for which she 
listened to them with such eagerness every night 
as they read aloud ; this was why she learned it all 
off by heart, was it? She had been tricking them 
the whole while, and even yesterday, when she 
made believe to explain everything, there was 
218 


The Fisher Maiden 


something she was hiding from them ; even 
while she was laughing her merriest, she was 
lying. 

And that secret purpose of hers! That career 
which the priest had so often condemned in her 
hearing, she dared to adorn with the title of God’s 
call to her and to ask him to bless it. A life full 
of outward shows and vanities, deceitfulness and 
passionate excesses, idleness and sensuality, lying 
and instability, a life over which hovered birds of 
prey as over carrion — ^was this the life which she 
yearned to devote herself to, and besought God to 
hallow? was this the life to which the priest and 
his daughter were destined to help her, there in 
that peaceful parsonage, under the stern watchful 
eye of that God-fearing fellowship of Christian 
folk? 

When Signe came in, fresh and bright as the 
winter morning, to wish her father good-morning, 
she found his study full of smoke. This was al- 
ways a sign of his being in perplexity, but it was 
doubly so when it happened at such an early hour. 
He said not a word to her, but he handed her the 
book. At once she saw that it was Petra’s; the 
recollection of yesterday evening’s suspicion and 
219 


The Fisher Maiden 


grief came over her; she dared not look inside it, 
and her heart beat so violently, that she was forced 
to sit down. But the same word that had first 
caught her father’s notice, met her eye too; she 
could not help looking further into the book and 
reading on. Her first feeling was one of shame — 
not shame for Petra, but shame at the thought that 
her father should have been forced to see this. 
But it was not long before she felt the deep humili- 
ation that comes of finding one’s self deceived by 
those one loves. For a moment it seems as if they 
have been cleverer, sharper, more dexterous than 
we, and a veil of mysterious power seems to wrap 
them round. But presently the soul begins to glow 
with indignant wrath ; honor wields its sway over 
powers which are not mysterious, though unseen; 
we feel we are strong enough to shatter at a blow 
a hundred such petty tricks of cunning; what 
but a moment before humiliated us we now 
despise. 

Petra was at the piano in the sitting-room, and 
her voice broke in upon them as she sang: 

‘‘O Life it is joy, for the Sun-king has shone, 

And the doubt-clouds of darkness are scattered and gone. 


220 


The Fisher Maiden 


And the hills are ablaze 
With the Sun’s bright rays, 

And ‘Up, up, up,’ cries the bird in the grove, 

And ‘Up, up, up,’ cries my love — 

‘Up, up with Hope and the Sun.’ ” 

Then suddenly tumultuous music swelled 
forth from the piano, and out burst Petra’s 
song again : 

“Thanks, friend, for the warning words you say. 

Yet across yon sea will I seek my way. 

Though the winds may howl and the breakers roar. 
Though I never again should come back to the shore ; 
For this is the chief of pleasures to me. 

To drive my keel through an unknown sea; 

To feel the waves dash over my prow. 

As I try how fast and how far I can go.” 

This was more than the priest could bear; he 
rushed past Signe, tearing the book out of her 
hand as he did so, and dashed to the door; nor did 
his daughter try to stop him this time. He came 
in upon Petra at full speed, threw the book on the 
piano before her, turned round, paced hurriedly 
221 


The Fisher Maiden 


round the room, and came back again to her; she 
had risen, and was holding the book clasped to her 
breast as she looked around on all sides in wild 
amazement. He stopped in front of her, meaning 
to tell her all he thought; but his wrath at having 
been used as a tool for more than two years by this 
wily girl, and especially at the thought of his 
warm-hearted, self-sacrificing daughter having 
been tricked so, was so mighty in his heart, that he 
could not at first find words, and when he did, he 
himself felt that they were too bitter. Once more 
he paced wildly round the room, stood before her 
again with a face red with passion, and then, with- 
out a single word, turned his back on her and went 
into his study. When he got there he found Signe 
gone. 

All that day, each of them remained in her own 
room. The priest had his midday meal by himself, 
as neither of the girls came in. Petra was in the 
housekeeper’s room which had been allotted to 
her, after the fire in her own: everywhere 
and in vain she had sought for Signe, to ex- 
plain; but Signe must surely be away from the 
parsonage. 

Petra felt that she was on the verge of a decisive 


222 


The Fisher Maiden 


step. Her life’s most secret thoughts had been 
torn from her heart, and now an influence would 
be brought to bear upon her which she could not 
endure. She herself best knew that, if she were 
to give up her purpose, she would ever drift be- 
fore the winds of chance. As it was, she could be 
light-hearted with the light-hearted, trustful with 
those that trusted her, and in all things steadfast 
and secure ; but this was all in the strength of her 
secret purpose; her purpose to one day reach the 
mark to which all her powers were growing and 
were prompting her. Should she make a confidant 
of any one after her first futile attempt at Bergen? 
No, that she could not do — not even if Oedegaard 
had been there. She must cherish her resolve in 
secret, until her powers were so far developed 
that she could endure people’s doubts in the 
matter. 

But now all was suddenly changed. The priest’s 
fiery face was ever present to her frightened con- 
science — she must find some means of escape! She 
kept hunting for Signe with more and more fever- 
ish excitement; but it was already afternoon, and 
no Signe was to be found. Now, the longer a per- 
son for whom we are looking keeps out of our 
223 


The Fisher Maiden 


way, the more stress we lay on the cause of our 
separation, and thus it came about that Petra at 
last began to consider that she had been guilty of 
terrible treachery to Signe in using her friendship 
to help her on to what Signe herself considered a 
very sinful thing. The all-knowing God could be 
her witness that that view of the matter had never 
before occurred to her, but now indeed she felt 
that she was a great sinner. 

Just as once before in her own home, so now she 
felt herself overwhelmed by a thing of which the 
moment before she had not had a shadow of anxi- 
ety! That such a terrible thing could come upon 
her again, and that she had not even now got a 
step further on the right road, increased her for- 
mer feeling of doubtful fear to absolute terror, 
and she saw before her nothing but a future of un- 
happiness. But in proportion as her own feeling 
of sinfulness grew, so did the image of Signe’s 
own pure-hearted and loving self-sacrifice. Truly 
Signe had heaped coals of fire upon her: let her 
then cast herself at Signe’s feet, cry to her and 
pray to her, and never leave off clinging to her and 
beseeching her, till she had given her just one lov- 
ing, friendly look. 


224 


The Fisher Maiden 

It had grown dark; Signe must be home again 
now, wherever she had been. Petra ran down the 
passage and into the wing of the building where 
Signe’s room was; the door was locked — a sign 
that she was inside. Petra’s heart beat fast as she 
took hold of the handle again, and cried in a voice 
of entreaty: 

“Signe, let me come and talk to you! Signe, I 
can’t bear this any longer!” 

Not a sound from the room. Petra bent down, 
listened, and knocked again: 

“Signe, oh Signe! you don’t know how miser- 
able I am!” 

No answer. Petra listened long, but no sound 
came from within. If we get no reply at such 
times, we are apt to grow doubtful whether there 
is any one to answer, even if we know that there 
must be; and if it is dark, we grow anxious and 
frightened as well. 

“Signe, Signe! If you are there, have pity on 
me — answer me ! Signe !” 

Still all was silence, and Petra began to shiver 
and tremble. The kitchen door opened, letting 
out a broad, clear stream of light, and from the 
yard came the sound of light-hearted, merry foot- 
225 


The Fisher Maiden 


steps. This put a thought into Petra’s head: she 
would herself go into the yard, climb up on the 
ledge that ran along the stone wall which formed 
the lower part of the side of the wing of the build- 
ing, go all round the house on this ledge till she 
got to the other side where it was very high, and 
thus look into Signe’s room! 

It was a bright starry night, and the mountain 
and the houses stood out in sharp clear outlines. 
The snow shone white, and the dark footpaths here 
and there served only to set off its radiant purity; 
from the road came the sound of sleigh-bells. The 
light and the sounds inspirited her, and she sprang 
up on to the ledge. She tried to hold tight to the 
projecting timber-work above, but she overbal- 
anced herself, and fell down again. She took an 
empty barrel and rolled it up to the wall, got 
on to it, and from it to the ledge. Then she 
worked along hands and feet together, moving 
them about six inches at a time. It needed a 
strong hand with strong fingers to hold on tight, and 
she could not get a proper grasp of the wood- 
work, because it was barely an inch broad. She 
was afraid some one might see her; for, if so, he 
would of course put it down as having something 
226 


The Fisher Maiden 

to do with the affair of the rope-ladder. If only 
she could get away from the side facing the yard, 
and reach the cross-wall! But when at last she 
managed to do so, there was a new peril to be 
faced : there was nothing in front of the windows, 
and she had to bend down as she passed each one, 
always in fear of falling off. The height of the 
wall was considerable, and all along it below there 
ran a hedge of gooseberry bushes, upon which she 
would certainly fall if she slipped; but she went 
on undaunted. 

Her fingers were throbbing, her limbs trem- 
bling, she shivered all over her body, but still she 
went on. Only a few steps more now, and she 
would be at Signe’s window. There was no light 
burning in the room, and the blind was not down ; 
the moon shone in such a way that Petra would 
be able to see every corner. This gave her new 
courage. She was now close to the window-sill, 
and seizing it with her whole hand, she paused to 
rest; for now that she had reached her goal, her 
heart began to beat so violently that she could 
scarcely breathe. But the longer she waited the 
worse it grew, so she hastened on, and stood sud- 
denly in front of the window-pane. 

227 


The Fisher Maiden 


There was a piercing cry from within. Signe, 
who had been sitting in a corner of the sofa, 
sprang into the middle of the room, and, with 
both hands and wild gestures of abhorrence striv- 
ing to keep off the terrible apparition at her win- 
dow, rushed off in affright. 

Petra realized in a moment what her figure 
against the panes in the clear light of the moon — 
her heedless, horrid boldness, her excited face all 
ablaze with the moon’s rays — must have brought 
about. She saw that her luckless idea alone was 
quite enough to have frightened any one, and that 
henceforth the sight of her would probably be al- 
ways a terror to Signe. Consciousness left her, 
and, with a thrilling shriek, she fell down. 

At Signe’s cry of terror all the people in the 
house had come running out, but they had found 
nothing. The second shriek set everybody about 
the place searching and talking loudly, but still 
without result. It was by pure chance that the 
priest happened to look out of Signe’s window, 
and in the moonshine saw Petra lying wedged in 
among the bushes. A great fear fell upon them 
all, and it was not easy for them to get her free 
and lift her up. She was taken up to Signe’s room 
228 


The Fisher Maiden 


— because the housekeeper’s was cold — undressed, 
and put to bed; then some set about bathing her 
hands and neck, which were badly torn by the 
brambles, while others made the room comfort- 
able, cheerful, and warm. When she had quite 
come to, and looked around her, she begged them 
to leave her alone. 

The quiet cheerfulness of the room, the delicate 
whiteness of the windows, the toilet table, the bed, 
and the chairs, brought back Signe vividly to her 
mind. She thought of her pure, loving heart; her 
gentle voice, through which spoke her stainless 
soul; her fine feeling for the thoughts of others; 
her soft, sweet kindliness. From all this she had 
barred herself out, she felt: soon she would have 
to leave this room; soon, too, the parsonage itself. 
And where was she to go then? 

One is not taken up from the highways three 
times in one’s life, and even if that could be so, she 
would have no more of it; it could only end, it 
seemed to her, in the same way. No one would 
ever be able to have faith in her: whatever the 
reason for it might be, she felt, at any rate, it was 
so. She had not got one step further, and she 
never would; for unless people trusted her she 
229 


The Fisher Maiden 


could not. Ah! how she prayed, how she wept! 
In the anguish of her soul she writhed and flung 
herself about, until at last she fell asleep from 
pure weariness. 

As she slept everything about her seemed to 
grow white and high. Never had she seen any- 
thing so towering high as this, nor such a radiant 
whiteness — as if a million stars were shining down 
on her. 


230 


The Fisher Maiden 


CHAPTER X' 
ENLIGHTENMENT 

When she awoke, she was still up in the clouds; 
the thoughts that came streaming in on her with 
the daylight strove to come up there too, but were 
straightway taken captive and borne away by 
something with which the whole air was filled — 
the sound of the bells for the Sabbath service. 
She sprang out of bed and put on her clothes, ate 
a little food in the pantry, wrapped herself up 
warmly and hurried away — never in her life be- 
fore had she so thirsted for the Word of God as 
now she did! By the time she reached the church, 
service had just begun and the door was closed : it 
was a cold day, and her fingers glowed as she took 
hold of the door-handle and turned it. The priest 
was standing right in front of the altar, so she 
stood waiting by the door till he had finished and 
the acolyte was about to remove the chasuble ; then 
she made her way into what was known as the 
231 


The Fisher Maiden 


‘‘Bishop’s pew,” a pew standing in the choir with 
curtains in front of it. The proper pew for the 
priest’s family was up in the gallery; but if any 
one had reason for wishing to sit unseen and alone, 
the Bishop’s pew was resorted to. When Petra 
reached it and crept in, she saw Signe already 
seated there in its further corner. She took one 
step out again, but just at that moment the priest 
turned to go past her from the altar to the vestry; 
she quickly retreated into the pew again, and sat 
down as far from Signe as she possibly could, 
for Signe had let her veil down, and that grieved 
Petra sorely. She looked out at the congregation 
as they sat wedged in in the high wooden pews, 
the men on the right, and on the left the women; 
their breath formed a waving cloud above them; 
on the windows the ice was an inch thick. The 
clumsy images of carved wood, the heavy, drag- 
ging singing, the thickly wrapped-up folks sitting 
there, all seemed to match one another and to be 
hard and distant from her. The impression that 
the look of the country round Bergen had made on 
her, the afternoon that she left it, came back to her 
mind; once more she was nothing but a fear- 
stricken wayfarer. 


232 


The Fisher Maiden 

The priest was now standing in the pulpit, and 
in his eyes, too, there was a look of sternness. 
“Lead us not into temptation!” he prayed, “for 
we know that any of the talents Thou hast given us 
may lead us astray.” He prayed that God would 
be merciful and not try us above our strength; and 
that we might never forget to pray for His grace; 
for only by humbling our faculties at His feet 
could they be made to help us toward salvation. 
In his sermon he enlarged on the same subject, 
dwelling on the double task our talents brought 
with them: first, that of doing our duty each in 
that state of life in which our faculties and cir- 
cumstances havQ placed us; secondly, that of de- 
veloping in us and in those intrusted to our care 
the ideal of the Christian man. We must be very 
careful, he went on, in making choice of our life’s 
work; for alas! there are certain callings which, of 
themselves, are sinful; others there are which may 
become so to us, either because they are not fitting 
for us, or are only too well fitted to minister to our 
sinful desires. And moreover, just as certain as 
it was that each must try and make choice accord- 
ing to his powers, so certain was it that a choice 
which of itself was neither unrighteous nor evil 

233 


The Fisher Maiden 


might nevertheless lead us into temptation if we 
allowed it to swallow up all our time and all our 
thoughts. Our duties as Christians, he said, must 
no more be neglected than our duties as parents 
toward our children. We must be able so to guard 
our thoughts that the Holy Spirit might ever find 
room to perform its work within our hearts; we 
must be able to implant and protect the good 
seed of the love of Christ in our children. There 
could be no work, no excuse, which could release 
us from that duty, whatever our circumstances 
might be. 

And now he went deeper into the matter — he 
explored the life-work of those who sat before him, 
their household, their place in life, and their 
thoughts. From other careers and mightier call- 
ings he drew forth such illustrations as might cast 
light on their own. The priest was a netv man 
to those who only knew him in daily life, from 
the moment he warmed up to his subject in the 
pulpit. Even his outward appearance was altered : 
his stern, compressed face seemed to grow open 
and radiant with the thoughts that shone through 
it; his eyes dilated and looked straight and stead- 
fastly before him, as if announcing great tidings ; 

234 


The Fisher Maiden 

his rough, shaggy hair looked like the mane of a 
lion; his voice rolled forth in thunderous bursts, 
or cut sharp and keen with short, quick phrases, 
at times falling to a quiet whisper, and then rising 
again with greater power. He was indeed quite 
unable to speak well except in a large place and 
with his thoughts fixed on the Eternal; for there 
was no music in his voice, save when he spoke with 
all his strength ; nor was his face expressive, or his 
thoughts incisive and clear, save when all ablaze 
with deep feeling. Not that he came to his subject 
for the first time when in the pulpit; for sorrow 
and contemplation alike had filled his soul with 
great store, and he was, in addition, a close and 
diligent student. But he was not always fit for the 
daily affairs of life and able to coin his thoughts 
into conventional talk. He needed to do all the 
talking, or at least to pace up and down the floor 
while it was going on. To begin a discussion with 
him was much like attacking a weaponless man, 
but all the same it was not without its perils; for 
the violence with which he expressed his convic- 
tions was such as to leave little opportunity for 
argument. Was he pressed to give his reasons, one 
of two things was the result : either he overwhelmed 

235 


The Fisher Maiden. 


his antagonist with such vehemence of language 
that there was always danger of a quarrel, or else 
he suddenly became dumb, fearing his own pas- 
sionate nature. No one could be more easily put 
to silence than this strong, eloquent man. 

Petra had begun to tremble as soon as the priest 
began his prayer, for she knew his reason for se- 
lecting those words. The longer he went on, the 
nearer she felt him coming to her own case. She 
shrank up into her corner, and she saw that Signe 
was doing the same. But with pitiless strength he 
hewed his way through — the lion was out after his 
prey. She felt herself pursued everywhere, penned 
in and at his mercy; but what was seized with so 
mighty a grasp was held gently in the hand of 
mercy. It was as if, without one word of condem- 
nation, she were laid on the bosom of the All-loving 
One. In that haven she wept and prayed; and 
when she heard Signe, too, weeping and praying, 
she loved her for it! 

The priest came down from the teacher’s seat 
and went past them into the vestry, his face glow- 
ing with radiant splendor that came from com- 
munion with the Most High. His eyes fell search- 
ingly and frankly on Petra; and as she looked up 
236 


The Fisher Maiden 

at him with trustful, candid eyes, a gleam of 
gentle kindness lighted up his face: he gave 
a quick glance at his daughter in her corner and 
passed on. 

Presently Signe rose, but her veil was down, 
and Petra did not dare to join her, so she waited 
a little before going; but at dinner that day all 
three sat together again. The priest talked a little, 
but Signe was reserved and silent. He evidently 
wished to say something about what had taken 
place; but as soon as he made the slightest ap- 
proach to it. Signe turned the conversation so deli- 
cately, yet with such modest shyness, that the priest 
could not help being reminded of her mother. 
This made him first silent and then sad, for so very 
little was needed to do that. 

Now nothing is more dreary than an attempt at 
reconciliation that has turned out a failure. They 
rose from the table without being able even to look 
at one another or exchange the salutations cus- 
tomary after a meal. In the sitting-room, the situ- 
ation at last became so oppressive that each of them 
would have been glad to get away from it, but none 
of them liked to be the first to go; Petra, for her 
part, feeling that if she went now, it must even be 

237 


The Fisher Maiden 


never to return. She could not look upon Signe 
again, if she were not to be allowed to love her; 
she could not bear seeing the priest made sorrow- 
ful because of her. But if she must go, she must 
go, she felt, without bidding them farewell; for 
how could she say farewell to them? The mere 
thought of it moved her so that she had scarcely 
strength enough to control her emotion. 

Every minute that prolongs such a strained situ- 
ation, when each is waiting for the other to do 
something, makes it more and more unbearable. 
One dares not move, for fear it should be noticed ; 
every breath is heard, nor can one remain quite 
still without its being perceived, and seeming like 
obstinate hard-heartedness. Each is in anxious 
suspense because no word is spoken, and in trem- 
bling fear lest any one should speak. 

Each felt that this moment could never come 
back to them again. The walls we build up be- 
tween one another rise ever higher and higher; our 
own offense, the offense of others, seems to grow 
greater with every breath we draw. At one mo- 
ment we are deep in despair, in indignation the 
next. Such treatment of us, we feel, is merciless 
and hard-hearted, and we will never put up 
238 


The Fisher Maiden 


with it nor forgive it. Petra could stand it no 
longer; she felt she must either cry out or run 
away. 

Suddenly there came the sound of sleigh-bells 
from the road, and then a man in wolfskin clothing, 
with a post-boy behind him, was seen dashing by 
the garden and into the yard. Each drew a long 
breath in anxious expectation of deliverance 1 
{They heard the traveler in the passage, they heard 
him taking off his traveling-boots, and talking to 
the maid as she helped him. The priest rose from 
his place to go and greet him, but turned back, not 
wishing to leave the two girls alone. Again they 
heard the stranger talking in the hall, and this time 
the sound of his voice was nearer, and made them 
all three look up. Petra rose and fixed her eyes 
on the door — there was a knock. 

“Come in,” said the priest, in an excited voice; 
and a man with a fresh, clear face, and glasses 
over his eyes, stood on the threshold. 

Petra uttered a cry and sank back into her chair. 
It was Oedegaard. 

He did not come quite as a surprise to the priest 
and Signe, for they had expected him at the par- 
sonage for Christmas, although they had told Petra 

239 


The Fisher Maiden 


nothing about it. But all felt that it was the hand 
of Providence that had brought him there just at 
that moment. 

Before Petra fully realized what had happened, 
he was standing by her with her hand in his. He 
continued to hold it, but neither he nor she spoke 
— indeed, she could not even rise from her seat 
— but two tears trickled down her cheeks as she sat 
there looking at him. He was very pale, but quite 
calm and tender. He let go her hand, walked 
across the floor, and turned to Signe, who had 
hidden herself in the furthest window among her 
mother’s flowers. 

Petra longed to be alone, and crept away; Signe 
went diligently about her household work, and the 
priest took Oedegaard into his study and refreshed 
him with a glass of wine, which he much needed 
after his journey. As they sat there, he told him 
in a few words all that the last few days had 
brought with them. Oedegaard listened and said 
nothing, but grew very thoughtful. They were 
interrupted, however, in a somewhat strange way. 

Two women and three men walked past the win- 
dows in single file, and the priest no sooner caught 
240 


The Fisher Maiden 


sight of them than he sprang up, exclaiming: 
“Here they come again. Now we shall need all 
our patience.’’ 

In filed the women, slowly and silently followed 
by the men. They ranged themselves along the 
wall beneath the book-shelves and opposite the sofa 
on which Oedegaard was sitting. The priest set 
chairs before them and got others from the sitting- 
room. All then sat down, with the exception of a 
young man, dressed as if he came from the town; 
he refused a chair, and remained standing by the 
door-post, both hands in his pockets, and a certain 
air of defiance in his looks. 

After a long silence, during which the priest 
filled his pipe, and Oedegaard — who did not smoke 
— closely scanned the party, a pale, fair-skinned 
woman, who seemed to be about forty years old, 
began to speak. Her forehead was rather nar- 
row; her eyes large but timorous, and seemed not 
to know where to look. 

“That was a fine sermon you preached to-day, 
parson,” she said, at length; “it just fitted in with 
what we were all thinking about; for we have 
lately been constantly talking about temptations 
up at Oeygars.” 


VoL. 6 


241 


(B)-k 


The Fisher Maiden 


She sighed, and a man with a short crabbed jaw 
and chin, and a large broad forehead, sighed as 
well, and said: 

“Lord, turn away mine eyes from behold- 
ing vanity; and quicken Thou me in Thy 
way.” 

Then Else, the first speaker, gave another sigh, 
saying : 

“Wherewithal shall the young cleanse their 
ways? By taking heed thereto according to Thy 
word.” 

This sounded strange coming from her, for she 
was no longer young. 

And now a man of middle age, who sat rocking 
to and fro on his chair, his head on one side, and 
his eyes half shut, murmured, as if in a dream: 

“Of trial and temptation sore 
Each one must have his share, 

That has his part in Jesu’s death, 

And His dear name would bear.’*' 

The priest knew them too well not to be aware 
that all this was merely by way of prologue; so 
he waited as if nothing had been said, and silence, 
242 


The Fisher Maiden 

broken only by deep sighs, fell upon them 
again. 

A little woman, whose stooping figure made her 
look even smaller than she was, and who was 
wrapped up in such a vast number of shawls that 
she looked a mere bundle of them — her face was 
quite hidden — presently began to rock and sway 
about, and gave vent to a couple of short grunts. 
Straightway the fair-haired woman was set off 
again : 

^‘There is an end to all sorts of playing and 
dancing up at Oeygars now,” she said; ‘^but 
— but — ” and she paused, whereupon Lars, 
the man with the short jaw and broad brow, 
went on: 

“ — ^but there is one man, Hans Fiddler, who will 
not leave off — ” and, as Lars paused to consider 
how to get out the rest of what he wanted to say, 
the young man took it up : 

“ — for he knows that the parson himself has an 
instrument, and that the people at the parsonage 
both sing and dance to it — ” 

— and it surely can’t be a greater sin for him 
than it is for the parson,” said Lars. 

‘The fact is,” said Else, cautiously, trying to get 

243 


The Fisher Maiden 


to the point, “the parson’s music acts as a tempta- 
tion to him.” 

And the young man added, vehemently: 

“It is an offense unto the young, and it is written. 
Whoso shall offend one of these little ones which 
believe in me, it were better for him that a mill- 
stone were hanged about his neck, and that he 
were drowned in the depth of the sea.’ ” 

It was now Lars’s turn to take up the run- 
ning: 

“Therefore we desire that you will send away 
your instrument or cast it into the fire, so that it 
be no longer for an offense — ” 

“ — to the children of thy care,” added the young 
man. 

The priest drew in his smoke and puffed it out 
again, and at last, with an evident effort to con- 
trol himself, spoke: 

“To me the music is not a temptation, but rather 
recreation and relief. Now you know that the 
things which refresh and relieve our souls bring 
us nearer to receiving the truth and understanding 
it; therefore, I believe that such things as my 
music are of a certainty helpful to me.” 

“And I know,” said the young man, “that there 
244 


The Fisher Maiden 


are priests who, as Saint Paul has enjoined, would 
willingly forsake, at the request of their congre- 
gations whatsoever might be ^a stumbling block 
or an occasion to fall.’ ” 

“It may be,” answered the priest, “that I, too, 
once interpreted his words as you do, but now I 
no longer do so. That one ought to give up bad 
habits or self-indulgence is true, but no one is 
required to make himself narrow and foolish 
with the narrow and foolish. I should be acting 
wrongly not only toward myself, but also to those 
to whom I have to set an example ; for I should be 
setting them a foolish example — an example con- 
trary to my own convictions.” 

Seldom was the priest able to give such a long 
explanation as this, when he was not in the pulpit; 
and now he added: 

“I will neither give up my instrument nor burn 
it, and I shall often listen to its music, I hope, for 
I have often need to do so ; and I would that you, 
too, in all innocence, might now and again re- 
fresh your souls with song and music and danc- 
ing; for such things I hold well for you and 
fitting.” 

The young man gave a grunt of contemptuous 

245 


The Fisher Maiden 

disgust, turned his head aside, and spat on the 
floor. 

The blood rushed up to the priest’s face; deep 
silence reigned over all, until the man who sat 
swaying from side to side broke forth in a high 
voice : 

Lord, my God, on every side 
I see the signs of pain and woe ; 

Each one his cross must patient bear ; 

Mighty or weakling, high or low, 

We all must suffer and endure : 

But flesh is feeble, and we know 
That Thou—’’ 

Here Lars burst in in sarcastic tones: 

“You say then that dancing and music are good, 
do you? Come, then, it’s good for us, is it, to stir 
up Satan in our senses? So that’s what our parson 
says, does he? He tells us that idle and sensual 
pleasures recreate and help us — that things that 
tempt us are good for us! Well, well, at any rate 
we know now what he thinks.” 

But here Oedegaard quickly broke in, for he 
saw that the priest was being worked up into a 
furious passion: 


246 


The Fisher Maiden 

‘Tell me, my good fellow,” he said, “what 
is there which may not become a temptation 
to us?” 

All looked at him from whom these well- 
weighed words came. The question was in itself 
so unexpected that neither Lars nor any of the 
others knew for a moment what answer to make. 
But as if from the depths of a well, or from far 
down in a cellar, there came the word : 

“Work” 

The voice came from the bundle of shawls: it was 
Randi, who now for the first time took part in the 
discussion. A smile of triumph broke over Lars’s 
short jaw, the fair woman looked at her with eyes 
full of faith, and even the young man standing by 
the door-post forgot for a moment the scornful 
curve of his lips. Oedegaard at once saw that she 
was their head, although her own was not to 
be seen. He therefore turned toward her and 
said: 

“If work is to be without temptation, of what 
kind must it be, pray?” 

She could not answer for a moment, but the 
young man interposed: 

“ ‘In the sweat of thy brow shalt thou eat bread,’ 


The Fisher Maiden 

says the curse ; wherefore our work must bring us 
sweat and toil.” 

‘‘And nothing but sweat and toil, then? Is it 
to bring us no advantage, for example?” 

This silenced the young man, too, for a moment; 
but now the spirit moved the short-faced man: 

“Yes,” he said, “as much as you can get out 
of it.” 

“Well, then, there may easily be a temptation 
lurking in one’s work — I mean the temptation to 
get too much out of it.” 

In these straits, succor came from out of the 
depths : 

“It is the profit then that tempts us, not the 
work.” 

“Well, what difference does that make, if the 
work is carried too far for profit’s sake?” 

She beat a retreat again, but Lars sallied boldly 
forth : 

“Work carried too far? What do you mean by 
that?” 

“Why, when it makes a man a brute — the mere 
slave of itself.” 

“There must needs be slavery,” came from him 
who had insisted on toil and sweat. 

248 


The Fisher Maiden 

“But can work which is done in a slavish spirit 
lead us to God?” 

“Work is the worship of God!” cried Lars. 

“Dare you say that of all your work?” 

Lars was dumb. 

“No, you can not! You must be fair, and grant 
that for profit’s sake work may be carried to such 
a pitch that it becomes the only thing we live for! 
Wherefore, even in work there is temptation.” 

“Yes, children, yes, there is temptation in all 
things — temptation in everything!” said the priest, 
as if giving judgment; and rising, knocked the 
ashes out of his pipe, for a sign that the discussion 
was over. A sigh came from among the shawls, 
but no one spoke. 

“Listen to me!” began Oedegaard again — and 
the priest filled his pipe afresh — “listen! If work 
brings forth its fruits, that is to say profit, surely 
we are allowed to enjoy these fruits, are we not? 
And if it bring us riches, shall we not enjoy them 
too?” 

These questions seemed to make them all very 
thoughtful, and they looked at one another mus- 
ingly. 

“Let me answer while you are thinking over it,” 
249 


The Fisher Maiden 


Oedegaard went on. “God must have permitted 
us to try and turn his curse into a blessing, for 
with his own hand he guided his patriarchs and 
his chosen people to the enjoyment of riches.” 

“The Apostles were enjoined to have nothing,” 
interjected the young man, in a tone as if these 
words settled the question. 

“True enough, for them he wished to place 
above and beyond all earthly things so that they 
might set their eyes on God alone; they were 
called of the Lord!” 

“So are we all!” 

“Yes, but not in the same way. Are you, for 
instance, called to be an apostle?” 

The young man turned deathly pale, and his 
eyes grew dark beneath his massive, overhanging 
brow; there must have been some special reason 
for his feeling these words so deeply. 

“But the rich must work as well as the poor,” 
said Lars, “for work is enjoined on all.” 

“Most certainly, but their objects and methods 
are different; each has his own work to do. But 
tell me this: shall a man do nothing but work?” 

“He shall likewise pray!” came from the lips 
of the fair-haired woman; and she folded her 
250 


The Fisher Maiden 


Hands as if she suddenly called to mind that she 
had long neglected to do so. 

‘‘Well, then, whenever a man’s not working he 
is to be praying, is he? Is that possible for any 
one? What sort of prayer, what sort of work, 
would such a one’s be? Is he never to have any 
rest, pray?” 

“We are to rest,” said Else, “when we are too 
tired to work any longer; for thus we shall escape 
the temptation of evil thoughts — ^yes, thus alone 
can we avoid being tempted!” 

And he who had before quoted the hymns started 
off again: 


‘^Oh, when worn out with toil, 

With earthly swink and moil, 

Ye rest your weary head. 

Ask ye sweet Jesu's care, 

For soon shall men prepare 
In earth your narrow bed.’^ 

“Do be quiet, Erik, and listen to what’s being 
said,” urged the priest, as Oedegaard began to 
sum up. 

“You see, then,” he said, “the worker brings 
2sr 


The Fisher Maiden 


forth fruit and needs rest; and it seems to me that 
the pleasures of social intercourse, singing, music, 
and the like, are not only the sweet and lawful 
fruit of labor, but also give the soul strengthening 
refreshment and support.’’ 

These statements caused great excitement in the 
opposing camp. All looked at Randi, as if now 
was the time for the main guard to advance. 
Rocking from side to side, she at length said in 
a low, deliberate voice: 

“There can surely be no real refreshment in 
worldly songs, music, and dancing; since such 
things urge the flesh to sinful desires. Surely that 
can not be a lawful fruit of our labor which wastes 
it and weakens us.” 

“Ah! indeed, there is great temptation in such 
things!” sighed out the fair-haired woman, and 
Erik started off again into a hymn : 

‘‘Crimes and vices growing greater 
Every day, we mark with sorrow ; 

Creeping on our spirits softly, 

Sins the guise of virtue borrow; 

Once within those holy places 
Bold they show their real faces.” 

252 


The Fisher Maiden 

“Do be quiet, Erik,” said the priest; “you only 
distract us.” 

“Ah, yes, no doubt I do,” said Erik; and off he 
started again : 

‘‘If ever one with wheedling words 
On you should try his art, 

To lead thee into sin’s smooth ways, 

With him have thou no part.” 

“Come now, Erik, you really must hold your 
tongue for a bit,” cried the priest. “Hymns 
are well enough, but at the right time and 
place.” 

“Yes, yes, parson, that’s true enough — always at 
the right time and place : 

“In every place and time 
To praise Him be thy care, 

Each heart-beat help to chime 
Bells calling thee to prayer.” 

“Come, come, Erik! even prayer would be a 
temptation at this rate. You must turn Papist and 
go into a cloister — ” 


253 


The Fisher Maiden 


‘‘God forbid!” cried Erik, opening his eyes wide, 
and then shutting them again as he sang out: 

‘^As mud and dirt by veriest gold 
Is the Papist's creed to — " 

“Look here now, Erik, if you can’t be quiet, you 
must really go out of the room! — Where was it we 
left off?” 

Oedegaard did not remember; he had been fol- 
lowing Erik’s proceedings with much amusement. 
But a peaceful voice was heard from amid the 
shawls: 

“I was saying that that can not really refresh us 
or be a lawful fruit of toil which, like dancing 
and—” 

“Now I remember; we were saying that there 
was temptation in — and then Erik came and 
showed us that there can be temptation even in 
prayer. Let us see then what we can get out of 
this. Have you noticed that the happy work beb 
ter than the dejected? And why is this?” 

Lars saw the drift of this question, and made 
answer: 

“It is only faith that makes us really happy.” 

254 


The Fisher Maiden 


‘‘Yes, when our faith is not a gloomy one; but 
have you never seen that a man’s religion may 
make him so gloomy that the world is nothing but 
a penitentiary to him?” 

The fair woman uttered sigh upon sigh with 
such persistence that it stirred up the bundle of 
shawls to sway about again; but Lars looked at her 
severely, and she was mute again. Oedegaard 
went on: 

“Being always at the same thing, whether work, 
prayer, or sport, makes a man stupid and gloomy. 
You may dig in the earth till you’re no better than 
a brute, pray till you’re a monkish slave, play till 
you’re no better yourself than a mere plaything. 
But do some of each, and the change from one 
to the other will brace up your heart and mind, 
your work will prosper, and your belief be the 
happier.” 

“We should try to be cheerful, then, you say?” 
said the young man with a scornful laugh. 

“Yes, for so would you, for your part, be brought 
into sympathy with the rest of mankind; for not 
till a man is happy can he see what there is good 
in other men and love it. But unless you love 
other men, you can not love God.” 

255 


The Fisher Maiden 

As no one was ready to contradict that, Oede- 
gaard tried once more to sum up his remarks : 

^‘Such things as set our minds free, so that the 
Holy Spirit may do its work in us — for He finds 
no room to work in those whose minds are fettered 
down — such things as are helpful to us must of 
necessity carry a blessing with them; and this is 
what the things we have been speaking of do.” 

The priest rose, and once more knocked the ashes 
out of his pipe. 

In the silence which followed — silence unbroken 
even by a sigh — the bundle of shawls worked about 
uneasily, and at last there came a gentle voice 
from it: 

^‘It is written. Whatsoever ye do, do all to the 
glory of God’; but can wordly music, singing, and 
dancing be to His glory?” 

‘^Directly, no; but may we not say the same of 
our eating, sleeping, dressing? And yet we are 
bound to do these things. Therefore the meaning 
of the text must be that you shall do nothing which 
is sinful.” 

“Yes; but are not these things sinful?” 

For the first time Oedegaard began to get some- 
what impatient. 

256 


The Fisher Maiden 


“We see,’’ he said, “from the Bible that not only 
singing, but also music and dancing were made 
use of — ” 

“Yes, for the glory of God.” 

“Granted; for the glory of God, then. But the 
Jews named God in all things, because they were 
like children, and had not learned to distinguish 
one thing from another. To a child all strangers 
are alike ^the man.’ To the child’s question. 
Where does this come from?’ Where does that 
come from?’ we give always the same answer: 
Trom God’; but when men speak to men, we do 
not name only the prime giver, God, but we men- 
tion the intermediaries as well. Thus, for ex- 
ample, a beautiful song may be a work of God 
and lead us to Him, though His name be never 
mentioned in it; for many things which do not 
lead us straight to Him yet draw us toward His 
throne. Our dancing, so long as it is really health- 
ful, innocent amusement, is, if not a thanksgiving 
in words, yet all the same a method of thanking 
Him who gives us our health and loves the child 
within our hearts.” 

“Listen to that! listen to that!” said the priest. 
He knew that he himself had long misunderstood 

257 


The Fisher Maiden 

these things, and had caused others to misunder- 
Stand them. 

But Lars had long been sitting deep in thought, 
and now he was ready. The grains of wisdom had 
been slowly dropping from the high, broad 
forehead to the short, crabbed jaws, and now, 
crushed and winnowed and ground, the meal 
came forth: 

‘‘Are all kinds of tales, stories, and fables, all 
sorts of poetry and fiction, such as books are filled 
with nowadays, allowable? Is it not written, 
‘Every word that goeth out of thy lips shall be 
truth?”’ 

“I’m very glad you reminded me of that. Look 
here, a man’s mind is like the house he lives in. 
If it’s so small that he can scarcely hold his 
head up or stretch his limbs out in it, he must do 
his best to enlarge it. Now, poetry makes our 
thoughts wider and loftier. If all our thoughts 
of things above our actual needs were false, then 
our thoughts of things actually needful would soon 
be false too. They would so fetter you to your 
earthly dwelling that you would never near the 
Eternal, which is just the goal you are striving 
to reach; and it is just those thoughts of things 
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The Fisher Maiden 

above us which, by the help of faith, will carry 
us there.” 

^‘But,” said Randi thoughtfully, “does not fic- 
tion tell about things that have never happened? 
Is it not, then, all full of lies?’” 

“No,” replied Oedegaard; “there is often 
more truth in fiction than in the things we think 
we see.” 

They all looked at him doubtfully, and the 
young man observed: 

“I never knew before that there was more truth 
in the fairy tale about Askeladd than in what lies 
before my eyes.” And the rest all giggled a little 
at this. 

“Tell me, then, do you always understand the 
things you see going on around you?” said Oede- 
gaard. 

“No, of course not. I’m not learned enough.” 

“Ah, the learned are even less able to account 
for things than you are. Look, for instance, at the 
things in daily life which cause us grief and pain, 
and which, as the saying is, we worry ourselves 
black about. Don’t such things ever befall us?” 

He made no answer; but from the shawls came 
an earnest — 


259 


The Fisher Maiden 


“Yes, indeed; often and often.” 

“But suppose, now, you heard a tale, which was 
so like your own case, that in listening to it you 
understood your own? Would you not say that 
this story, which made your own case clear to you, 
and gave you that courage and consolation that 
comes of understanding — would you not say that 
that tale had more real truth in it than the actual 
facts of your own life?” 

“I once read a tale,” said the fair woman, “which 
so helped me in my great sorrow, that what had 
before seemed to me so sad, became almost a cause 
of rejoicing to me.” 

“Yes, that is quite true,” came with a timid 
cough from among the shawls. 

But the young man was by no means satisfied. 

“Can the story about Askeladd be of any help 
to any one?” he asked. 

“Well, well; everything has its own use. Hu- 
mor appeals to most of us very strongly, and that 
story shows in a comical way that what the world 
values least may be of the greatest account; that 
all can be made to help the man who has a stout 
heart, and that a man can Ho what he makes up 
his mind to Ho. Don’t you think many children, 
260 


The Fisher Maiden 

not to say grown-up folks, would do well to bear 
that in mind?” 

‘‘But surely it is superstitious to believe in 
witches and trolls?” 

“Nobody said you should believe in such things. 
In such tales, the expressions are mere figures of 
speech.” 

“But it is forbidden us to use images and 
figures. Like all other deceits, they belong to 
the devil.” 

“Do they? Where do you find that?” 

“In the Bible.” 

“No,” said the priest, breaking suddenly in; 
“there you are mistaken; the Bible itself makes 
use of figures.” 

All looked up at him. 

“It uses figures on every page, for Eastern 
peoples are much given to them. We ourselves 
use figures in our churches and in our speech, on 
wood, on canvas, and on stone, and we can not 
form any idea of the Godhead except through 
pictures or figures. Nor is this all: Jesus uses 
figures constantly. Did not the Lord God Himself 
use many forms when He declared Himself unto 
His prophets? Did He not come to Abraham in 
261 


The Fisher Maiden 


Mamre, and take meat at his table in a traveler’s 
guise? But if the Godhead deigned to put on 
many forms, and to use figures freely, surely we 
men may safely do so.” 

They were forced to assent. 

Oedegaard, springing up, tapped the priest 
gently on the shoulder. 

“Thanks!” he whispered. “You have proved 
most clearly from the Bible that play-acting is 
allowable!” 

The priest was dumb with amazement. The 
smoke in his mouth curled slowly out of its own 
accord. 

Oedegaard walked across the floor to her of 
the many shawls, and bent down to try to 
catch a glimpse of her face, but could not 
succeed. 

“Is there anything more you want to know?” 
he asked: “you seem to me to have thought a good 
deal about one thing and another.” 

“Ah, Lord help me! very often I don’t think 
in the right way.” 

“When one is first filled with the grace of con- 
version, one is so taken up with its wonders that 
all else seems useless and vain beside it. One is 
262 


The Fisher Maiden 

like a lover, who desires nothing save his loved 
one.” 

“Ah, but look at the first Christians; surely they 
ought to be our patterns.” 

“No; their difficult life among the heathen 
is no longer ours; our duties are different; it is 
for us to bring our Christianity into the life of 
to-day.” 

“But there are so many things in the Old Tes- 
tament which speak in a spirit quite the opposite 
of what you say,” said the young man, and this time 
with no sneer in his voice. 

“True; but those things have no longer any 
force for us — they are ^done away,’ as Saint Paul 
says: We are able ministers of the new covenant; 
not of the letter but of the spirit’; and further: 
Where the spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty.’ 
And again says Saint Paul: ‘All things are lawful 
for me, but,’ he adds, ‘all things are not expedient.’ 
Now we are fortunate enough to have before us 
the life of a man who has shown us what Saint 
Paul meant, namely, Luther. You will admit of 
course, that Luther was a pious and enlightened 
Christian?” 

Yes, they were sure of that. 

263 


The Fisher Maiden 


“Luther’s creed was a cheerful one, for it was 
that of the New Testament. He thought that be- 
hind a gloomy creed was pretty generally to be 
found the Devil. As for constant fear of tempta- 
tion, he thought that those who feared least were 
least tempted. He made use of all the capacities 
God had granted him, not forgetting the capacity 
for enjoyment, and this he did his whole life long. 
Will you listen to some instances of it? The pious 
Melancthon was once so hard at work on a defense 
of the pure Religion that he did not give himself 
time for his meals. Luther came and snatched the 
pen out of his hand: ‘We serve God not by work 
alone,’ he said, ‘but also by rest and recreation ; for 
this has God given us the Third Commandment 
and instituted the Sabbath.’ Moreover, Luther 
did not think it amiss to use figures and images 
when he spoke, sometimes of a sportive, at others 
of an earnest kind, and he was full of fine and 
often merry thoughts. Further, he translated into 
his mother-tongue many good old fairy-tales, say- 
ing in the preface to his translation that, except the 
Bible, he knew nothing that contained finer moral 
teaching than they do. As you probably know, he 
played on the zither, and was wont to join with 
264 


The Fisher Maiden 

friends and children in singing — not only hymns, 
but also merry old songs. He liked social gather- 
ings, he played chess, and had young people to his 
house to dance ; all he required was that they should 
behave modestly and reputably. A certain simple- 
minded old disciple of his, one Johann Mathesius, 
has written all this down about him, and used to 
preach on it to his flock from the pulpit; he prayed 
it might serve them for an example; let us pray 
so tooF’ 

“Dear friends,” said the priest, rising, “this is 
enough for to-day.” 

The others all rose, and he went on : 

“Much has been said that may enlighten us; may 
God help the good seed to bring forth! Dear 
friends, you live in lonely and desolate places, 
where the corn is more often cut short by the frost 
than by the sickle; on barren spots far upon the 
mountains, which were more fitly given over to 
imps and elves and nibbling goats. The spirit 
grows up there short and gloomy like the plants 
around. Superstition hangs over life there like 
the crags beneath which it is engendered, over- 
shadowing men and severing them from one an- 
other. The Lord unite you! the Lord give you 
265 


VoL. 6 


(B)-L 


The Fisher Maiden 


light! I thank you for coming here to-day, my 
friends. For me, as well as for you, it has been 
a day of great enlightenment.” 

He shook each of them by the hand, and even the 
young man gave his hand a friendly pressure, 
though he did not look up. 

“You are going back over the mountain,” said 
the priest as they were about to set out; “when will 
you reach your homes again?” 

“Oh, some time to-night,” answered Lars. “The 
snow has been falling very thickly, and where the 
wind has blown it away, the road is covered with 
solid ice.” 

“Indeed, friends, you deserve all praise for 
coming to church under such circumstances. I 
hope you will all get home in safety.” 

Erik quietly answered: 

“Be God my guide, then what to me 
Is open foe or secret snare? 

Safe ever shall my journey ings be, 

In loving Jesu’s tender care.'' 

“Ah! that’s true, Erik,” said the priest; “this 
time you’ve hit the right nail on the head.” 

266 


The Fisher Maiden 

“But wait a moment,” said Oedegaard, as they 
were on the point of departing. “It’s not strange 
that you don’t recognize me, but I think there must 
still be some kinsfolk of mine up at Oeygars.” 

All turned and looked at the speaker at these 
words — not excepting the priest, who, it is true, 
had been told of Oedegaard’s connection with the 
place before, but had forgotten it. 

“My name is Hans Oedegaard; I am the son 
of the priest Knud Hansen Oedegaard, who once 
wandered out from among you, his wallet on his 
back.” 

“Goodness gracious!” came from among the 
shawls; “he was my brother!” 

All stood still in silence, no one knowing what 
to say; at length Oedegaard asked: 

“Was it not you, then, whom we stayed with, 
when I was a little fellow, and my father took me 
up there with him?” 

“Yes, you stopped with me.” 

“And with me too for a little time,” said Lars; 
“your father is my first cousin.” 

“So you are that little Hans! Ah! how the time 
flies!” said Randi sadly. 

“And how is Else?” asked Oedegaard. 

267 


The Fisher Maiden 

‘That is Else/’ said Randi, pointing to the fair 
woman. 

“Are you Else?” he cried. “I remember 
you were in trouble about your love affairs at 
that time; did you have your way and marry 
the fiddler?” 

There was no answer, but in spite of the deep- 
ening twilight he could see Else growing redder 
and redder, while the men’s eyes wandered round 
the room or sought the floor — save the young man’s 
who looked piercingly and directly at her. 

Oedegaard felt that he had asked an awkward 
question, but the priest came to his rescue: 

“No, Hans Fiddler is unmarried; Else married 
Lars’s son, but she is free to marry again now; she 
is a widow.” 

Else blushed still more violently, and the young 
man looked at her and smiled scornfully. 

“Well,” said Randi, “you have traveled about a 
lot, I suppose? I can see you have become a very 
learned man.” 

“Till now I have done nothing but travel and 
study; but now I mean to settle down and get to 
work.” 

“Ah, that’s how things are in this world! Some 
268 


The Fisher Maiden 


of us journey forth and draw nigh to light 
and wisdom, while others have to stay at 
home.’’ 

“And the soil of our fathers’ land is often hard 
to till,” added Lars ; “but when we raise up from it 
a man who might help us, he straightway leaves 
us.” 

“Each has his own bent,” said the priest. “Each 
must obey his own call.” 

“And the Lord will direct the whole work, be 
sure!” added Oedegaard. “If God will, my 
father’s work shall yet return to you.” 

“Ah, yes, that we believe,” said Randi with a 
touch of sadness ; “but it’s dreary waiting, and it’s 
so long one has to do it.” 

They went their way, and the priest at one win- 
dow and Oedegaard at the other watched them as 
they filed up over the mountain side, the young 
man bringing up the rear. Of him, the priest told 
Oedegaard that he was from the town, where he 
had been engaged in one occupation after another, 
but had always managed to quarrel with some- 
body. 

He was always fancying that he was born for 
some great work, and now had got the notion that 
269 


The Fisher Maiden 


he was destined to be an apostle, but much to 
everybody’s surprise he had stopped on at Oey- 
gars, perhaps, as some said, from love of Else; 
his was a fiery, passionate nature, that had already 
met with many disillusionments of which there 
were yet more in store for him. 

They could now see the travelers again on the 
mountain side as they rose above the roof of the 
cattle-shed. 

Slowly they worked their way, ever onward 
and upward, sometimes hidden by the trees, 
sometimes plain in their sight. The thick snow 
hid the pathways, but the trees showed them 
their way, and the snow-peaks marked their 
goal. 

But to the watchers in the Windows came the 
sound of keys swept in sweet joyous cadence, and 
then the words : 

‘‘Oh, to what should I sing 
If not to the Spring, 

Though not yet herself be here? 

To the haunts will I fly 
Where she hiding doth lie, 

And lure forth the Sun’s bright cheer ; 

270 


The Fisher Maiden 

From the Earth's brown face 
Old Winter I’ll chase, 

And set ev’ry brook rippling free ; 
And the warm, sweet hours. 

Shall be fragrant with flowers, 

While the birds sing out in their glee ; 
And the groves shall ring 
With the praises we’ll sing. 

Of the young, the joyous, the radiant 
Spring!” 


271 


The Fisher Maiden 


CHAPTER XI 

PETRA’S CONSECRATION 

From that day the priest began to spend little 
of his time with the others; partly because he was 
busy with Christmas affairs, and partly because he 
was trying hard to satisfy himself as to whether 
play-acting was or was not allowable to a Chris- 
tian. The bare sight of Petra was enough to make 
him fall into a reverie at once. 

While the priest was sitting in his study with a 
sermon or a book of Christian ethics before him, 
Oedegaard spent his time with the girls, whose 
natures he was constantly comparing with one an- 
other. Petra’s was a glowing, sparkling spirit, 
never quite the same for two moments: he who 
would know her must give his whole mind to her 
as to a book. In Signe, on the other hand, was ever 
the same sweet, constant kindliness; her move- 
ments mirrored her being, and were therefore 
272 


The Fisher Maiden 


never of a startling kind. Petra’s voice could as- 
sume all tones, sweet or bitter, and any degree of 
loudness or softness. Signe’s was peculiarly pleas- 
ant to hear, but there was little variety in it, save 
indeed to her father’s ear, for he could distinguish 
the slightest shades of change in it. Petra was 
fully taken up by one, and only one, thing at a 
time ; if her mind was attracted by more than one, 
she then became a mere onlooker without pro- 
nounced convictions. But Signe had an eye for 
everything and everybody, and quietly, and in a 
way that attracted no attention, gave her services 
equally to all. When Oedegaard talked with 
Petra of Signe, he seemed to be listening to 
the complaint of a hopeless lover; when he talked 
with Signe of Petra, he could get little from her. 
[The two girls constantly conversed together; but 
though they talked without constraint, they never 
touched on anything but indifferent topics. 

Oedegaard had feelings of great thankfulness 
to Signe, for it was to her that he owed what he 
called his “new manhood.” The first letter which 
he received from Signe in his great sorrow was 
like a gentle hand upon his brow. As she de- 
scribed to him with delicate care how Petra had 

273 


The Fisher Maiden 


come to them, misunderstood and harshly treated, 
and as she modestly pointed out to him that what 
seemed to be “chance” in her coming there must 
in reality be the will of God, so “that nothing be 
lost,” it sounded to him as a friendly voice sounds 
to one who wanders in the depths of some forest 
and knows not which way to turn. 

Signe’s letters went with him wherever he went, 
and guided his footsteps. She thought that every 
line she wrote would help to lead him back to Pe- 
tra’s embrace, but as a fact they had just the oppo- 
site effect; for from these letters Petra’s artist’s 
nature rose before him. The key to her being, 
which he himself had ever sought in vain. Signe 
unwittingly kept in view; and as soon as he 
recognized this he saw the mistake which he 
— as well as she — had made, and it restored him 
to manhood. 

He took good care not to let Signe see what he 
had learned from her letters, for the first word 
must come from Petra herself, and not from any of 
those around her, lest she might be urged to go too 
fast. But from the time when this dawned upon 
him, Petra stood before him in a new light. Of 
course, it was clear enough now: these ever-shift- 
274 


The Fisher Maiden 


ing, restless moments of feeling — each one having 
full sway while it lasted, each contradicting the 
other — were nothing but indications of the yet 
developing artistic temperament. His task must 
be to gather them all into one firm whole, else 
would all her efforts be but a patchwork and her 
life itself a mere sham. But above all, he must 
guard against her beginning too early; silence 
must be his plan as long as possible — yes, opposi- 
tion itself if necessary. 

His mind thus busy, he was scarcely aware of it 
before Petra was once more the main object of his 
life — but not for his own sake now. He gave 
much of his time to observing the lives of artists in 
general and actors in particular. He saw much 
in them to dismay a Christian; he found mon- 
strous abuses; but abuses he found ever3rwhere, 
even in the church itself. But because some priests 
were unworthy and base, did that make the call- 
ing itself less great or solemn? If the work of 
enlightenment, which he felt to be going on every- 
where around, had taken its roots in life and poetry, 
should it not also be found on the stage? 

By degrees he grew certain that he was right, 
and it caused him much joy to see from Signe’s 

275 


The Fisher Maiden 


letters that Petra’s powers were developing so, and 
that Signe was just the right person to help her. 
And now he had come to see and thank the guar- 
dian angel, who herself knew not what she had 
been to him. 

But he had also come to see Petra, and find out 
how far she had gone. The word had been ut- 
tered, and so he could at any rate talk freely with 
her of the matter; that was very welcome to them 
both, for thus they were able to avoid speaking 
of the past. 

And now guests from the town — unbidden as 
well as bidden — began to pour in upon them. 
Now things were in such a state that any chance 
opportunity, turned to good account, might set 
everything straight; and this chance was afforded 
them by the guests. A large gathering had been got 
together in their honor, and it happened that when 
the gentlemen were assembled in the study, after 
dinner, the conversation turned on play-acting; 
for a certain chaplain who was present had caught 
sight of a book of Christian ethics lying open on 
the priest’s table, and his eye had been caught by 
that word of peril, ‘‘play-acting.” Thereupon 
arose a vehement discussion, and in the midst of it 
276 


The Fisher Maiden 


in came the priest, for he had not been present at 
dinner, because he had been sent for to visit a 
sick man ; he was very grave, and neither partook 
of food nor joined in the talk; but he filled his 
pipe and listened attentively. As soon as Oede- 
gaard saw that the priest was quietly listening, he 
tried to get his views clearly put before the others, 
but it was long in vain ; for each time Oedegaard 
endeavored to draw an inference, the chaplain had 
a way of crying out, “I deny your premises; I 
don’t agree to it,” so that Oedegaard had first to 
prove the facts he made use of to prove other 
things; in this way their argument went further 
and further back, so that they had got from play- 
acting to navigation, and from navigation to 
agriculture. 

It was then decided to discuss the question sys- 
tematically, and at Oedegaard’s suggestion the 
priest was selected to act as chairman. Besides 
him, there were present several other priests and 
a sea-captain, a swarthy little man with a huge 
paunch and a couple of thin little legs beneath it, 
that moved as if made of wood. The chaplain 
was invited to put into words his objections against 
play-acting. 


277 


The Fisher Maiden 


‘The drama,” he said, “was opposed by the 
more righteous of the pagans themselves. Plato 
and Aristotle were against it, because it was a cor- 
rupter of morals. Socrates, it is true, sometimes 
was present at the acting of plays; but I deny that 
that justifies any one in concluding that he ap- 
proved of them, for one is forced to see many 
things one does not approve of. The early Chris- 
tians were earnestly warned against play-acting. 
Just read Tertullian! Since the restoration of the 
drama in more modern times, earnest Christians 
have constantly spoken and written against it. I 
need only mention such names as those of Spener 
and Francke, a Christian philosopher such as 
Schwarz; I need but remind you of Schleier- 
macher.” 

“Hear, hear!” cried the captain, for he had 
heard the name of Schleiermacher before. 

“The two last admit that dramatic poetry is not 
unlawful, and Schleiermacher would even allow 
really good dramas to be performed at private 
gatherings, but not by professional actors; for he 
utterly condemns acting as a business; it offers so 
many temptations to a Christian, that it is his duty 
to avoid it. And does it not offer temptation to 
278 


The Fisher Maiden 


the spectators as well, pray? To be moved by 
imaginary woes, and to have our emotions played 
on by feigned virtues, a thing which we can 
more easily guard against while reading a book, 
lures us on to fancy ourselves to be the thing 
we see ; it weakens the will and self-dependence, 
and fills our minds with desire to hear, see, and be 
amused. Will any one deny this? Who are the 
greatest frequenters of the theatre? Idle loafers, 
who want to be entertained; sensualists, who de- 
sire to have their senses tickled; the vain and the 
frivolous, who wish to make a show of themselves ; 
and sickly idealists, who flee to the stage for shel- 
ter from the actual facts of life, which they dare 
not grapple with. There is sin before the curtain, 
sin behind the curtain; and I never knew any 
sincere Christian but said the same.” 

Said the captain: 

“I really am quite afraid to think where I’ve 
been. If I’ve really been in such a den of wolves 
each time I’ve been at the play, why, the devil 
take — ” 

“Fyl captain,” said a little girl, who had come 
into the study, “fy! you must not swear, for if you 
do you’ll go to hell.” 


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The Fisher Maiden 


“Right, right my child — I will not” 

“Plato,” began Oedegaard, “had the same ob- 
jections against poetry as against acting, and as 
for Aristotle’s opinion, it is doubtful. I will there- 
fore let that pass. The early Christians did well 
to keep aloof from Pagan plays — so I will let that 
pass too. That in later times, earnest Christians 
have had doubts as to the lawfulness of acting, even 
among Christians, I can quite understand; for I 
too had my doubts at one time. But if any one al- 
lows that the poet is at liberty to write a play, then 
must he also grant that the actor may act it; for 
what does the poet do but act it, even while he is 
writing it? He is acting it in his thoughts, with 
all his senses and all his passions; and you know 
Christ’s own words: “Whosoever looketh on a 
woman to lust after her,” etc. But if Schleier- 
macher tells us that a play may be acted indeed, 
but only in private and by unpractised persons, 
then he is saying that the powers we have received 
from God are not to be fully cultivated; but surely 
God’s meaning is that we shall develop them to 
the utmost, for that is the purpose for which we 
have received them. But we are all of us acting 
every day of our lives; both when in jest or in 
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The Fisher Maiden 


earnest we imitate others, or are subject to their 
influence. In some people, this power of imitation 
is far greater than in others, and if such people 
neglected to turn their powers to their proper uses, 
it would not be long, I am quite sure, before the 
evidences of their sin would appear of their own 
accord. For the man who does not follow the 
calling his powers fit him for becomes irresolute, 
restless, and unfitted for any other, and therefore 
falls a far easier prey to temptation than if he had 
followed his natural bent. Where work and pleas- 
ure are one, there is not nearly so much room for 
temptation. But, you say, the work is in itself too 
full of temptation. Well, every man feels tempta- 
tion in a different way, I suppose. For my part, 
that calling seems to me to offer far the greatest 
temptation that tricks a man into thinking that he 
himself is righteous, because he bears a message 
from the Righteous One; into believing that he 
himself has faith, because he preaches faith to 
others; or to put it more clearly: to me the calling 
of the priesthood offers the greatest of all tempta- 
tions.” 

At this many voices uprose. 

‘‘I deny it!” 


281 


The Fisher Maiden 


quite agree with him!” 

^‘Silence 1” 

‘That’s quite true!” 

“Silence!” 

“I never heard before,” said the captain, “that 
priests were worse than play-actors.” 

At this some laughed, and a voice cried out: 

“No, no; he didn’t say they were.” 

“Now,” said the captain, “may the devil — ” 

“Hush, hush ! captain,” came from the little girl ; 
“the devil will come for you at once.” 

“Well, well, child, I won’t swear,” answered the 
captain. And Oedegaard went on : 

“All the temptation to get our emotions stirred 
for the moment, and to settle down to the mere 
pleasures of hearing and imagining, and the temp- 
tation of fancying ourselves the models of virtue 
we see held up to our admiration, without making 
earnest effort to become like them — all these temp- 
tations, I say, are undoubtedly to be met with in 
the Church too.” 

Loud clamor broke out afresh at this, and at- 
tracted the ladies to come and see what these re- 
peated outbursts of noise might mean. Through 
the open door, Oedegaard saw Petra standing 
282 


The Fisher Maiden 

among them. There was a deeper earnestness in 
his tone as he went on: 

“Of course there are actors who are easily stirred 
when on the stage; who run thence to church, and 
are equally easily stirred there, and for all that 
are no better than before. And of course there are 
actors who are mere windbags, and who in any 
other calling would be absolutely useless, but who 
in their own are of some service as windbags. 
But, on the whole, I believe that actors, like sailors, 
are so often placed in difficult situations — for the 
moment before coming on to the stage must often 
be extremely terrible to them — and are so often 
called to be the means — under the grace of God — 
of saving others, and are so often set face to face 
with the sublime and the unexpected, that there 
springs up in their hearts a sense of awe and of 
yearning, and a deep feeling of their own unwor- 
thiness; and it was, we know, among contrite 
women and among publicans that Christ chiefly 
tarried. I give the actor no special license ; indeed, 
the greater the work he is called upon to do in the 
land — and how great his work is may be judged 
from the smallness of the number of really great 
actors — the deeper is his guilt, if he stoops to turn 
283 


The Fisher Maiden 


his talents to the service of hatred or envy, or lets 
them be degraded at the call of loose frivolity. 
But just as there are no actors who have not learnt, 
by repeated disappointments, how worthless is ap- 
plause and flattery, even while they affect to believe 
in it, so do we see their errors and deficiencies ; but 
we don’t quite understand their own position, and 
everything turns on that.” 

At this, several began to talk all at once; but 
from the next room came floating in the words of 
the old ballad: 

‘^Methought that the bygone days had returned,” 

and they all streamed in to listen to Signe’s sing- 
ing, for no one could sing the Scandinavian folk- 
songs like Signe. One ballad followed another, 
and then when all were inspirited and exalted by 
the sound of their native songs — surely the fairest 
outpouring of a great people’s soul, and the finest 
example of the ballad form the world has ever 
seen — Oedegaard rose and asked Signe to recite 
something to them. She had evidently been ex- 
pecting it, for she came forward at once, though 
she blushed deeply, and her limbs trembled so that 
284 


The Fisher Maiden 


she had to lean on the back of a chair; then, a 
sudden death-like pallor overspreading her face, 
she began : 

‘‘His father and mother were weak and old, 

He was their joy and their hope and their stay; 

Yet spite of their love and his home and his gold 
Ever he yearned to be up and away. 

‘O wherefore,’ they cried, ‘seek’st thou peril and 
strife. 

When here thou hast all that is pleasant in life ?’ 

“Yet his heart was aflame when, like hosts to the fight. 
The clouds swept grandly by ; 

His heart was aflame when the sun’s bright light 
Seemed a Viking’s pomp in the sky. 

And he recked not of home, and he recked not of gold, 
As he gazed and he dreamt of the glories of old. 

• 

“He rose, and his way he took to the shore. 

Where the surf beat heavy, the wind blew free: 

He must hear the breakers’ thunderous roar ; 

He must watch the strife ’twixt rocks and sea. 

It was a day in the wakening spring. 

When loud o’er the land doth the storm-voice ring: 
285 


The Fisher Maiden 


‘Now rouse thee, thou earth, from thine ice-bound sleep/ 
He felt the hot blood in his body leap. 

“For a Viking’s ship in the dim creek lay. 

Holding the storm-king’s wrath at bay. 

Down was the anchor and furled the sail. 

Yet the bark seemed but ill-content to rest; 

The mast creaked, the timbers sang in the gale. 

As the ship beat the surf with its swelling breast. 

“Full fain were the Viking’s men for a while 
Their labors with revel and rest to beguile. 

Lo ! sudden a voice upon them broke 

Froni the cliffs above, and, with wild words, spoke: 

‘Are you all afraid of a sea so high ? 

Come, give me the rudder — no peril fear I !’ 

“Hearing, a few looked up in surprise. 

Most of them not even turned their eyes ; 

None of them ceased to drink or to eat. 

Crash! a crag hurled — and two men crushed at their 
feet. 

“Up started all from the deck where they lay, 

Naught now of eating or drinking cared they ; 

286 


The Fisher Maiden 


Each seizing his weapon, his arrow sped 
At the youth who stood dauntless and bare over- 
head. 

‘Ho, captain ! wilt give me/ he laughingly cries, 

‘Thy vessel, or say wilt thou fight for the prize ?’ 

“No answer came from the Viking’s tongue. 

But full at the mocker a spear he flung ; 

It missed the rash stripling, who quietly said : 

‘Me await they not yet in the halls of the dead 
But for thee — thou hast plowed every wave of the 
sea. 

Thy labor is ended — they’re waiting for thee. 

Give unto me, then, all thy prowess has won, 

For thy time is over — and minCj begun.’ 

“Loud the Viking laughed. ‘Now if,’ cried he, 

‘Thou long’st, as thou say’st, so sore. 

Come down, and my warrior shalt thou be 1’^ 

Rang the answer swift from the shore : 

‘I must lead, not follow ; the power must be mine. 

Nor let e’er the young spirit the old confine.’ 

“No answer came to his words of pride ; 

Down he leaped, and he loudly cried : 

287 


The Fisher Maiden 

‘Ye warriors, shall we in battle show 

Which one the War God loves for his own? 
Reverence and honor to him will ye owe, 

And let shame be the due of the beaten alone?’ 

“At this the Viking, with wrath ablaze, 

Plunged into the sea and swam to the strand; 
The youth, with a shout of delight and praise, 
Sprang in, and aided his rival to land. 

“The Viking marked his fearless eye, 

His noble look and bearing high : 

‘Arms’ — to his crew — ‘fling arms,’ I say; 

‘And thou, if me thou chanc’st to slay. 

At least shalt own to thee I brought 

The sword by which my death was wrought.’ 

“They fought upon the rock-bound shore; 

The eager war-birds scent their prize 
’Mid clash of steel and ocean’s roar ; 

Lo ! now the Viking fallen lies ! 

“One wild shriek thrilled the mountain through, 

A shriek of mingled rage and grief ; 

And, struggling through the surf, the crew 
Stood vengeful round their dying chief. 

288 


The Fisher Maiden 

“Then gently moved the Viking’s hand, 

For the last time he gave command : 

‘A man must fall, when fall he must; 

The mightiest war-song needs must end. 

Make him thy leader — ’tis but just, 

For he has conquered ! See, they send 
To light me now to Odin’s board.’ 

So speaking, died the pirate lord. 

‘‘The victor tarried little while ; 

Quick, rising on a stone, spake he : 

‘Build of these crags a mighty pile. 

That all yon hero’s might may see; 

And then e’er dusk again away. 

Nor let the dead the living stay.’ 

“They piled the cairn and they raised the sail 
And the ship’s breast scattered the sea-foam pale, 

As a wild, long dirge rang over the wave 
For the leader loved that was gone, 

And a welcoming shout for the leader brave 
Who stood at the helm alone. 

“The prow he turned to his home hard-by. 

Where the folk stood gathering thick on the strand, 
289 


VoL. 6 


(B)-M 


The Fisher Maiden 


Much marveling that, 'mid waves so high, 

A ship dare venture so near the land. 

And red in the rays of the evening sun 
Lay the bark, and the cairn of the mighty one. 

^^Straight for the shore did the stripling steer ; 

^She must surely founder,' cried all in fear ; 

Quick round went the ship 'mid the seething spray, 
^Now, father,' laughed he, ‘may I up and away?' " 

Her voice had trembled, but she had spoken in 
a simple, dignified, and unaffected way. Her 
hearers stood gazing, as if a stream of light glow- 
ing with all the colors of the rainbow had welled 
up from the ground at their feet and flashed high 
up into the heavens above. No one spoke, no one 
stirred ; till at last the captain could contain him- 
self no longer, and, springing up, with heaving 
chest, he cried: 

“I don’t know how you all feel; but when I am 
carried away like this, the devil take me if — ” 

^^Captain, you’re swearing again!” said the little 
girl, threatening him with her finger. “In a min- 
ute the devil will come and carry you off.” 

“Well, my dear, let him come, then. I don’t 

290 


The Fisher Maiden 


care. But, the devil take me or no, I must have a 
song of our fatherland.” 

Without further request. Signe went to the 
piano, and presently the voices of the whole glad 
company were joined in patriotic song: 

‘‘In my land will I dwell, 

And my land will I till ; 

Hers my prayer, and my arm, and my children shall be; 
Her soil I'll defend. 

And her wants I will tend. 

From her uttermost hills to the sand of the sea. 

“Hers is sunshine enough. 

Hers are seed-fields enough. 

If we all give our strength to our dear native land. 

So sweet our Norse song. 

And our might is so strong. 

That her fame must rise high if together we stand. 

“In the days that are dead 
O'er the swan-path we sped, 

And o’er many a country our stern yoke we threw ; 

Yet our banner to-day 
Shall hold mightier sway. 

And shine with a splendor the past never knew. 

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The Fisher Maiden 


“From our three-cloven North 
Shall great glory come forth 
When but one mighty people are all of Norse blood. 

Then lend all thy strength, 

That the streamlets at length 
May unite in one broad, ever-widening flood. 

“O dearest on earth 
Is this land of our birth, 

As it was, as it is, and as yet it shall prove! 

For the love that springs forth 
For our home in the North 

Makes the Northland wax great with the fruits of our 
love/’ 

When Signe rose from the piano, she put her 
arm round Petra and drew her into the study, 
where no one else was. 

‘Tetra,” she said, “shall we be friends again?’’ 
“Oh, Signe, are you really going to forgive me 
at last?” 

“There is nothing I couldn’t forgive now. 
Petra, do you not love Oedegaard?” 

“Signer 

“Oh, Petra, I thought you did from the very first 

292 


The Fisher Maiden 

day you came here; and I thought that he had 
come here at last to — to — All that I have done or 
thought for you in these two years and a half was 
with that in view; and father, I know, thought the 
same. He has talked of it to Oedegaard, you may 
be sure.” 

‘^But, Signe I” 

^‘Hush!” she whispered, putting her hand on 
Petra’s mouth. And she darted away in answer 
to a call, for supper was about to be served. 

There was wine on the table, for the priest had 
not been present at dinner. Now he sat very quiet 
and grave, as if he were alone at table, till just as 
the others were on the point of rising; then, tap- 
ping his glass, he spoke: 

“I have a betrothal to announce!” were his 
words. 

All eyes were turned on the two girls, who were 
sitting side by side, and scarce knew whether to 
fall from their chairs or not. 

‘T have a betrothal to announce,” said the priest 
again, as if finding it difficult to get on. ‘T will 
confess to you that at first I did not like the thought 
of it.” All the guests here looked at Oedegaard in 
great astonishment, which grew greater and greater 

293 


The Fisher Maiden 


as he merely sat quietly looking at the priest. “I 
thought, to tell you the truth, that he was not 
worthy of her.” The guests were now so embar- 
rassed that they could not summon up courage to 
look up; and as the girls had not dared to, after 
the opening words, the priest had only one hearer^ 
who looked at him, and that was Oedegaard, whose 
face was a picture of tranquil enjoyment. ^^But 
now,” the priest went on, ‘^now that I have got to 
know him better, I scarcely know whether she is 
worthy of him, so great is he in my eyes; for the 
bridegroom is Art, the actor’s mighty Art, and his 
betrothed my foster daughter, my dear Petra. 
May you be happy together! I tremble to think 
of it; but those whom God hath joined together, 
let no man put asunder. God be with you, my 
daughter!” 

In a moment she was across the floor, and her 
head was on his breast. 

As no one sat down again, all, of course, left the 
table. Petra went at once to Oedegaard, who drew 
her with him into the recess of the furthest win- 
dow. He had something to say to her, but she 
spoke first: 

‘‘All this I owe to you !” 

294 


The Fisher Maiden 


“No, Petra! I have been no more than a good 
brother to you. It was foolish of me ever to have 
wished to be more; for if what I wanted had 
happened your whole life would have been 
spoiled.’’ 

“Oedegaardl” 

They were holding one another’s hands, but 
their eyes did not meet. A moment later he let 
go her hand and turned away. She sank into a 
chair and wept. 

Next day Oedegaard had gone. 

Toward spring, Petra received a large envelope 
with a big official seal on it: it quite frightened 
her, so she took it to the priest, who opened it and 
read the letter. It was from the town clerk of her 
native village, and ran as follows: 

‘‘I have the honor of making known to you that Pedro 
Ohlsen, who departed this life yesterday, has left a will, 
worded as follows : 

‘‘ ‘All that I possess, which is fully and accurately de- 
scribed in the account book which lies in the blue chest in 
my room in Gunlaug Aamund^s daughter’s house on the 
hill, and of which the said Gunlaug alone has the key, and 
295 


The Fisher Maiden 


knows all that is required, I hereby bequeath (if the afore- 
said Gunlaug Aamund’s daughter gives her consent, which 
she can only do by permitting a certain condition attached 
to this will to be fulfilled, which she alone can fulfil, being 
the only person who knows how) to Petra, daughter of 
the aforesaid Gunlaug Aamund’s daughter ; that is, if she 
cares to be reminded of a feeble old man whom she has 
made happy without knowing it — for she could not know 
it — and whose only joy she has been during his last years; 
for which reason he has striven to make her some small 
return that he hopes she will not despise. God be merciful 
to me, a miserable sinner. 

‘‘ Tedro Ohlsen.’ 

“ ‘In reference to the above, I take the liberty of asking 
whether you will communicate directly with your mother 
regarding this affair, or would prefer me to act for you 

The next post brought her a letter from her 
mother, written by Hans Oedegaard’s father, who 
was now the only person in whom she dared to 
confide. It told her that she gave her consent to 
the fulfilment of the condition, which was to tell 
Petra what Pedro was to her. 

This news and the legacy gave fresh energy to 
Petra’s determination; it seemed as if all things 
296 


The Fisher Maiden 


were shaping themselves to her views, but it 
was another incitement for her to leave the 
homestead. 

So after all it was to develop Petra’s artist 
spirit that old Pere Ohlsen had earned coppers by 
fiddling at bridals and dances, and it was for her 
that he had afterward toiled and drudged, and his 
son after him, and his son’s son. The sum was not 
a very great one, but it was enough to support her 
for a while when she went out into the world, and 
to help her on a bit faster. 

And like glad sunshine the thought filled her 
mind that now her mother could be with her, and 
every day she could make her mother happier and 
give her some return for her past sorrows! She 
wrote her a letter by each post, and could scarcely 
await her answer. It was a bitter disappointment to 
her, when it did come; for Gunlaug thanked her, 
but thought it ^‘better for each to keep by herself.” 
Then the priest promised to write, and when Gun- 
laug got his letter, she was no longer able to for- 
bear telling the seamen and her other acquaint- 
ances that her daughter was about to be a great 
personage, and wanted her to come and live some- 
where with her. At this the thing became a sub- 
297 


The Fisher Maiden 


ject of grave consideration in the village, and was 
discussed in wharves, ships, and kitchens alike. 
Gunlaug, who till then had never said a word 
about her daughter, never talked now of anything 
but “my daughter Petra,’’ nor did any one ever 
speak to her now of anything else. 

But now the time was at hand for Petra’s de- 
parture, and Gunlaug had not yet given her a defi- 
nite answer. This distressed her sorely, though 
she was somewhat comforted by a solemn promise 
from both the priest and Signe to come and be 
with her the first time she appeared on the stage. 

The snow was beginning to melt away from the 
mountains, and the fields were gradually growing 
green again. Spring, when it comes to the land 
among the hills, brings with it a life as mighty as 
the longing for its advent has been. Men’s hearts 
beat quicker, their work grows lighter, and wan- 
dering thoughts of the lands that lie beyond the 
mountains spring up within them. But Petra, 
spite of her heart’s desire, had never loved the 
place and all around her more than she did now 
that she was to leave it; it seemed to her as if she 
had never properly valued it all, or even known its 
298 


The Fisher Maiden 

true value till now. She had only a few more days 
to spend at the parsonage, so she and Signe went 
around bidding farewell to everybody and every- 
thing — lingering with especial fondness on spots 
that had become dear to them both. Then a rus- 
tic brought them a message that Oedegaard was 
up at Oeygars, and meant to come down to them. 
Both girls felt somewhat nervous at this, but they 
gave up their long walks. 

When Oedegaard came, he was bright and cheer- 
ful, as they had never seen him before. His busi- 
ness in the parish was to start a high school for 
the children of the people, and he meant to man- 
age it himself until he found a teacher fit to do so; 
later on he meant to start various other things for 
the good of the parish : by this means he hoped, as 
he put it, to pay off something of his father’s obli- 
gations to it, and old Oedegaard had promised 
him to come and live with him, as soon as his house 
was ready. Both the priest and Signe were well 
pleased indeed to have them for neighbors; but 
Petra could not help feeling it a little strange that 
he should be coming to settle there, just as she 
was going away. 

Tt was the priest’s wish that they all should par- 
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The Fisher Maiden 

take of the Last Supper together the day before 
Petra’s departure. Thus a sort of solemn stillness 
lay over their last days together, and when they 
talked, their voices were hushed and low. This 
feeling lent its effect to everything Petra’s thoughts 
touched on, and her eyes were earnest and her talk 
serious. All the events of her life were gone 
through again in their order, as she went balanc- 
ing up her account with herself; for till now she 
had ever been looking forward, never back. Now 
it all came back to her from first to last; once more 
she heard the dear Spanish airs that had enchanted 
her so, and in her mind she ran over, one by one, 
the many strange, uncontrolled fancies of her 
childhood and youth, and the devious paths they 
had led her into, much as a person might look 
again at garments that once fitted him, but which 
he has now outgrown. If anything escaped her 
mind for a moment, there was always something 
close at hand to recall it; for all her thoughts were 
connected in her mind with some material thing 
or other, so that, with her, the thing and the 
thought went ever together; the piano above all 
teemed with so many associations for her, that it 
wellnigh overpowered her to see it. She would 
300 


The Fisher Maiden 


sit down to it and actually not be able to touch the 
keys, while, when Signe played, she could scarcely 
remain in the room. She liked best to be alone; 
and Oedegaard and Signe, understanding her 
feelings, kept away from her; but all about 
her looked at her with mournful affection, and 
the priest never passed her without stroking 
her hair. 

At last the day had come. It was a damp and 
misty day; the snow was thawing on the moun- 
tains, the grass was showing itself green on the 
meadows. All four of them kept to their own 
rooms until it was time for them to go together to 
church. There was no one there except them- 
selves, the verger, and a clergyman, for the priest 
himself was going to partake of the communion; 
but, notwithstanding, he preached the sermon, for 
he had some earnest words to say to the young girl 
about to leave them. He talked as he used to 
talk to them as they sat at dinner at home on a 
birthday or holy-day. It would soon be made 
plain, he said, whether the foundation that had 
been laid during that portion of her life which she 
was that day closing in prayer to God for grace was 
deep and secure. No man’s life was perfectly true 
301 


The Fisher Maiden 


and just till he had found his right life’s-work. 
Hers was the calling as of a preacher, and only by 
truthful endeavor and worthy living could she 
hope to produce mighty and enduring results. 
God often used the unworthy, it was true; and in- 
deed all of us, he said, were in the higher sense 
unworthy; but God could make use of our striv- 
ings and yearnings for goodness. There was one 
great moral goal, and no one might reach it by 
yearning and thinking alone; each must use his 
utmost endeavor to approach the Most High. He 
begged her to come and see them often, for, said 
he, the main idea of communion was that of sym- 
pathetic faith and mutual help. If ever she erred, 
she would always find pity and love among them, 
and if she herself did not see where her error was, 
they would always be ready with loving advice 
and aid. 

After the holy rite they all four went home to- 
gether. But the remainder of the day was spent 
by all in their own rooms, save that in the evening 
and far into the night Petra and Signe sat long 
together. 

Next morning Petra was to go. At the table the 
priest took a most tender farewell of her. 

302 


The Fisher Maiden 

He was quite of Oedegaard’s opinion, he 
said, in thinking it best for her to begin as she 
now was, and to begin alone. But in the struggle 
she was now entering on she would soon find out 
how helpful it was to know that somewhere there 
were certain men and women whom she could ever 
feel sure of. She would see that only to know that 
they ever remembered her in their prayers would 
be of no small help to her. 

Then, after thus taking leave of Petra, he turned 
and addressed Oedegaard. 

‘^To be joined in love for one and the same ob- 
ject,” he said, “is the most beautiful beginning of 
love for one another.” 

No doubt the priest had not a thought in 
his mind when he uttered this greeting of a cer- 
tain meaning his words might bear, and which 
first made Signe and then Petra blush rosy red. 
Whether Oedegaard blushed or not they knew not, 
for neither of them dared to look at him. 

But when the horses were at the door, and the 
three friends stood by the young girl, while all the 
men and women of the place were gathered round 
the carriage, Petra whispered, as she kissed Signe 
for the last time: 


303 


The Fisher Maiden 


“I shall soon hear great news from you, I know. 
God’s blessing on you!” 

An hour later she could no longer see the 
homestead, but only the white peaks that towered 
above it. 


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The Fisher Maiden 


CHAPTER XII 

THE CURTAIN RISES 

One evening, just before Christmas, all the tick- 
ets for the theatre in the metropolis were sold. A 
new actress, of whom everybody was talking, was 
to make her first appearance. One of the people — 
for her mother was a poor fish-wife — she had, by 
the help of some who had perceived her talents, 
now reached her goal, and she was supposed to 
have given great promise. Many strange things 
were being whispered about her among the audi- 
ence before the curtain rose. She had been, it was 
said, a shockingly naughty little girl, and had, as 
soon as she was old enough, got herself engaged to 
six young men at once, and had kept it up for six 
months. She had, they said, been escorted out of 
her native town by the police, for there had been 
terrible disturbances because of her; it was a 
strange thing that the management should permit 
such a person to appear on the stage. Others de- 
clared there was not a word of truth in all this, for 

305 


The Fisher Maiden 


she had been brought up ever since she was ten 
years old in the quiet household of a priest in Ber- 
gen. She was a cultivated and charming girl, for 
they knew her well. No doubt her talents were 
magnificent, for her beauty was superb. 

But there were others sitting in the theatre who 
knew the real facts of the case much better. 

To begin with, there was the great fish-mer- 
chant, whose name was known throughout the land 
— ^Yngve Void. He happened to be in the town on 
a matter of business; though, to be sure, it was said 
that his fiery Spanish wife made his house so hot 
for him that he was forced to travel to cool him- 
self. He had taken the largest box in the theatre 
all to himself, but had invited his chance acquaint- 
ances at dinner in the hotel to come with him and 
see ‘‘something devilish worth seeing.” He was 
in excellent spirits, till suddenly his eye fell on — 
what! could it be? — there, in that box in another 
row, and with a whole ship’s crew round him — no 1 
r — ^yes! — ^yes, indeed, it was Gunnar Ask! Gunnar 
Ask, who, by the help of his mother’s money, had 
now become the owner and captain of “The Nor- 
wegian Constitution,” had happened, as he came 
out of port, to sail side by side with a ship that 
306 


The Fisher Maiden 

bore the name: “The Danish Constitution”; and 
when — as it seemed to Gunnar — the latter tried to 
get ahead of him, he was quite unable to put up 
with it; he crowded on all the canvas that he had; 
the old “Constitution” creaked, and, in the long 
run, in his efforts to hold her as close up to the 
wind and as long as possible, he ran her aground 
on a most ridiculously inconvenient spot. Now he 
lay in the town against his will, while “The Nor- 
wegian Constitution” was being patched up. He 
had met Petra in the town one day, and she had 
accosted him, and been so gracious and kind to 
him both then and since, that he not only forgot 
his grievance against her, but called himself the 
greatest codfish their town had ever exported for 
ever having been such a fool as to imagine him- 
self fit for such a girl as Petra. He had bought 
tickets at high prices that day for all his crew; and 
now he sat there, with the firm intention of treat- 
ing them after every act; and all his crew — men 
from Petra’s native town, and of good repute in 
that earthly paradise, her mother’s inn — felt Pe- 
tra’s honor to be their own; and as they sat there 
they vowed that their clapping would be such as 
had never been heard before. 

307 


The Fisher Maiden 


Down in the stalls could be seen the priest’s 
thick, bristly hair. He sat there peacefully, for 
he had entrusted her case to a higher one. By his 
side sat Signe, now Signe Oedegaard. She, with 
her husband and Petra, had just come back from 
a three months’ trip abroad. There was a look of 
serene happiness on her face as she sat smiling over 
at Oedegaard. Between them sat an old woman 
with snow-white hair that crowned her brow like 
a royal diadem. Her head rose above all those 
around her, and she could be seen from every part 
of the house. Before long, every opera-glass was 
turned upon her, as the news spread that this was 
the young actress’s mother. The white-haired 
dame made such a deep impression on the audience 
that its influence secured their hopeful attention 
for the daughter. A young nation is full of con- 
fident expectation, for it has faith in its own pow- 
ers; and the sight of the mother touched and 
roused that faith. 

She herself saw nothing and nobody; nor did 
she trouble much about what was going to take 
place. All she wanted was to be there and see 
whether people were kind to her daughter or not. 

The time was close at hand. Conversation was 
308 


The Fisher Maiden 


fading out in the anxious expectation which was 
gradually taking possession of all and silencing 
them. 

With a sudden crash of drums, cymbals, and 
horns, the overture began. Adam QEhlenschla- 
ger’s “Axel and Valborg” was the play, and Petra 
herself had asked for that overture. She sat be- 
hind in the wings listening. And in front of the 
curtain sat as many as the house could hold of her 
countrymen, trembling for her fate, as is ever the 
case when one expects some great thing of one’s 
own to be brought to the light of day. Each felt 
as if he himself were to be put to the test; and at 
such moments there goes up many a prayer, even 
from hearts not used to praying. 

Gently the overture began to die down. Peace 
fell upon the harmonies, and they softly melted 
away as if beneath the rays of the sun. The 
music ceased, deepest stillness reigned, and 
the curtain rose. 


309 










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